Year 6: From Beaches to Britain
by stiles622
Summary: Barely a crossover, everything about it is Harry Potter with the cross-over that one of the characters is an earth bender. It's an OC-in-the-story story and starts in Year 3. This is the sequel to the sequel to the sequel. Fred/OC
1. Chapter 1: No Break

Christina Bataskill was drooling comfortably on her pillow adjacent to that of Fred Weasley's. The room was strewn with various possessions and a good smattering of rubbish. Owl feathers, apple cores, and sweet wrappers littered the floor, a number of spell-books lay higgledy-piggledy among the tangled robes on their bed, and a mess of newspapers sat on top of several boxes. The headline of one blared:

 **ARE WE AMONG THE CHOSEN ONES?**

Rumors continue to fly about the mysterious recent disturbance at the Ministry of Magic, during which He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was sighted once more.

"We're not allowed to talk about it, don't ask me anything," said one agitated Obliviator, who refused to give his name as he left the Ministry last night.

Nevertheless, highly placed sources within the Ministry have confirmed that the disturbance centered on the fabled Hall of Prophecy.

Though Ministry spokeswizards have hitherto refused even to confirm the existence of such a place, a growing number of the Wizarding community believe that the Death Eaters now serving sentences in Azkaban for trespass and attempted theft were attempting to steal a prophecy. The nature of that prophecy is unknown, although speculation is rife that it concerns Harry Potter and Christina Bataskill, the only people ever known to have survived the Killing Curse, and who are also known to have been at the Ministry on the night in question. Some are going so far as to call them "the Chosen Ones," believing that the prophecy names them as the only ones who will be able to rid us of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

The current whereabouts of the prophecy, if it exists, are unknown, although ( _ctd. page 2, column 5_ )

A second newspaper lay beside the first. This one bore the headline:

 **SCRIMGEOUR SUCCEEDS FUDGE**

Most of this front page was taken up with a large black-and-white picture of a man with a lion-like mane of thick hair and a rather ravaged face. The picture was moving — the man was waving at the ceiling.

Rufus Scrimgeour, previously Head of the Auror office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, has succeeded Cornelius Fudge as Minister of Magic. The appointment has largely been greeted with enthusiasm by the Wizarding community, though rumors of a rift between the new Minister and Albus Dumbledore, newly reinstated Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, surfaced within hours of Scrimgeour taking office. Scrimgeour's representatives admitted that he had met with Dumbledore at once upon taking possession of the top job, but refused to comment on the topics under discussion. Albus Dumbledore is known to ( _ctd. page 3, column 2_ )

To the left of this paper sat another, which had been folded so that a story bearing the title MINISTRY GUARANTEES STUDENTS' SAFETY was visible.

Newly appointed Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, spoke today of the tough new measures taken by his Ministry to ensure the safety of students returning to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this autumn.

"For obvious reasons, the Ministry will not be going into detail about its stringent new security plans," said the Minister, although an insider confirmed that measures include defensive spells and charms, a complex array of countercurses, and a small task force of Aurors dedicated solely to the protection of Hogwarts School.

Most seem reassured by the new Minister's tough stand on student safety. Said Mrs. Augusta Longbottom, "My grandson, Neville — a good friend of Harry and Christina's, incidentally, who fought the Death Eaters alongside them at the Ministry in June and —

But the rest of this story was obscured by the large birdcage standing on top of it. Inside it was a magnificent yet oddly blue owl. An apparent accident from a previous owner. Her black eyes surveyed the room imperiously, her head swiveling occasionally to gaze at her snoring owner. Once or twice she clicked her beak impatiently, but Christina was too deeply asleep to hear her. A large trunk stood in the very middle of the room. Its lid was open; it looked expectant; yet it was almost empty but for a residue of old underwear, sweets, empty ink bottles, and broken quills that coated the very bottom. Nearby, on the floor, lay a purple leaflet emblazoned with the words:

— ISSUES ON BEHALF OF —

 _The Ministry of Magic_

 **PROTECTING YOUR HOME AND FAMILY AGAINST DARK FORCES**

The Wizarding community is currently under threat from an organization calling itself the Death Eaters. Observing the following simple security guidelines will help protect you, your family, and your home from attack.

1\. You are advised not to leave the house alone.

2\. Particular care should be taken during the hours of darkness. Wherever possible, arrange to complete journeys before night has fallen.

3\. Review the security arrangements around your house, making sure that all family members are aware of emergency measures such as Shield and Disillusionment Charms, and, in the case of underage family members, Side-Along-Apparition.

4\. Agree on security questions with close friends and family so as to detect Death Eaters masquerading as others by use of the Polyjuice Potion (see page 2).

5\. Should you feel that a family member, colleague, friend, or neighbor is acting in a strange manner, contact the Magical Law Enforcement Squad at once. They may have been put under the Imperius Curse (see page 4).

6\. Should the Dark Mark appear over any dwelling place or other building, DO NOT ENTER, but contact the Auror office immediately.

7\. Unconfirmed sightings suggest that the Death Eaters may now be using Inferi (see page 10). Any sighting of an Inferius, or encounter with same, should be reported to the Ministry IMMEDIATELY.

Christina was quite pleased to get some sleep, it had been a week since she had been at the Burrow and every moment seemed to be filled with either Mrs. Weasley heckling her for wedding opinions, Ginny asking for the very graphic details of her fight with Voldemort, or Ron begging for Quidditch help. She had told Mrs. Weasley that she had no opinions on the wedding and that Mrs. Weasley could go hog-wild. She gave Ginny the best story she could but Christina always felt Ginny didn't quite believe her, and Christina practiced with Ron twice a day but when she was too tired she just phoned it in and let a stand-in stone version play as her. Ron didn't mind, although if they ever collided the bruising was always more severe.

Christina had never felt more like an adult in her entire life. While Fred, her fiancé, was off at work she was to help around the house. The Burrow was always in disarray and in desperate need of repair but the Weasley's had never had the tools quite capable of making such amends. However, with Christina there with her natural powers lending themselves to foreman skills, she repaired the roof, straightened the staircase, and set the fourth floor on proper footing (the floor had been angled and off since they had built it many years ago). Mrs. Weasley was always pleased for the help yet was still nervous around Christina whenever she was using her powers. Christina understood the fear, as long as Fred was fine with it thought, she didn't quite care about it.

Mr. Weasley was almost never home, since the return of Voldemort he was constantly needed at work and was expected to get a promotion soon because of it. "Any moment now, Arthur! They knew you believed in Albus Dumbledore, people respect that!" Mrs. Weasley would say to him during the few late-night hours they had together. Christina and Fred were usually awake around that time because Fred too got in very late. Business was booming and once Fred returned home he very much needed to relax so to say . . . so Christina normally stayed awake to greet him. Fred's original plan was to stay in Diagon Alley with George at their flat there but with them working all hours of the day it made more sense for Christina to be with Ginny and Ron and have Fred apparate home every night.

Fred's 6am alarm which consisted of several firecrackers went off causing Christina, who was used to this method of waking up by now, to punch it onto the floor. Fred however, was not as groggy. He bounced out of bed and threw on a robe and tore away the covers from the bed exposing Christina.

"It's your birthday! And we've got exactly forty-five minutes to celebrate- "he added, looking at his watch, "And you are about to receive the best birthday sex a girl could ask for."

Christina laughed, burying her head under the pillow as Fred descended upon her. He grabbed at her underwear and she hit him with her pillow giggling. "Girls don't get morning wood you know!" He smiled and threw her underwear onto a box in the corner of the room.

"You know that's what we used to call Oliver Wood back in the day." Fred said winking. Christina hardly thought of her old Quidditch captain but the thought of Fred and George teasing him with the nickname 'Morning Wood' made her laugh nostalgically before Fred dove in head first into her private parts . . .

"Well, it's about time you two showed up! Fred you'll be late for work!" Mrs. Weasley huffed when Christina and Fred shuffled down for breakfast just under an hour later. Fred grabbed a piece of toast, kissed Christina on the cheek, bit the toast and apparated off leaving with a wink as a goodbye.

"Happy birthday, Christina!" said Ginny, beaming. "Tonks is coming soon!" Christina was elated, she loved hanging around Tonks. She was always someone Christina could count on to make her laugh. She sat down at the kitchen table where there was a pile of presents waiting on the table.

"Thanks! When is she-"

"Happy birthday!" Ron called from the stairs, he entered the kitchen not moments later to give Christina a hug. "Did you hear, Tonks is coming! We haven't seen her since-"

"I know . . . " Christina finished for him. The last Christina had heard of Tonks was that she was recovering in St. Mungo's, badly injured. But she must be alright now if she's apparating to houses . . .

"Where's Fred?" Ginny asked Christina looking around.

"Oh he's gone already, on that work grind" said Christina, helping herself to some eggs from the table before Ron finished the plate off himself.

"I swear if you weren't here he wouldn't visit." Ginny laughed, pouring herself some tea.

"Look at George! He lives at the shop. Haven't even seen it." Ron said in between bites. Just then Mrs. Weasley came in from outside nearly in tears holding a letter. Ron put down his fork.

"Is everythin' alright, mum?" she put down the letter and removed her hand from covering her mouth.

"Bill's getting married." Said Mrs. Weasley, still unaware of the words coming out of her mouth. She seemed paralyzed. Ginny dropped her spoon.

"What?!"

"To who!" said Christina, shocked.

"FLEUR DELACOUR! The-" Mrs. Weasley started.

"From Beauxbatons? One of the tri-wizard champion?" Christina said, only just now remembering her existence.

"HER?" Ron finally added in, not believing a word he was hearing. "I knew they were seeing each other but I didn't know it was serious . . . "

"Fleur Delacour . . . all we need is for someone to marry Harry and then we'll have all four in the family" Ginny joked. Christina threw her a and-that'd-be-you look and Ginny blushed. Christina flashed her crooked smile.

"Bill wants her to come and stay with us for the summer . . . so she can meet her new family . . . I have to prepare the house . . . oh and happy birthday, Christina. Tonks, Remus, Fred, George, Bill and apparently Fleur Delacour will be here tonight . . . " Mrs. Weasley listed on as she walked through the kitchen most likely making a mental task list of everything she had to clean and cook. Christina merely smiled as the soon-to-be exhausted Mrs. Weasley exited but quietly stuck her head back in.

"Arthur told me to wish you a happy twenty-second, Christina, " said Mrs. Weasley, beaming at her. "He had to leave early or work, but he'll be back for dinner. That's our present on top."

Christina referred back to the pile and took the swuare parcel she had indicated, and unwrapped it. Inside was a veil adorned with shimmering white butterflies and lilies. It was beautiful.

"Something borrowed from my wedding . . . I can't imagine what it must be like not to have a mother but I hope you consider Arthur and I the next best thing."

"You two make excellent mothers, thank you." Mrs. Weasley laughed and exited again smiling. Christina couldn't help but overhear her murmur to herself, "Her and Fred . . . two of a kind . . ."

Ron had gotten her a book about a very old wizard who had natural powers but they were water-related, Ginny had gotten Christina a pocketwatch that buzzed when someone was following her, Fred and George as a duo had gotten her the latest Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes merchandise and Fred had promised her a secret gift earlier that morning to be hand-delivered later that evening when he returned from work.

Not long after breakfast there was a pop outside the Burrow which could only mean someone had arrived. Ginny answered the door, to which many questions were passed back and forth, and eventually in stepped in a young witch with a pale, heart-shaped face and mousy brown hair.

"Wotcher, Christina. Happy birthday."

"Thanks, Tonks!"

Christina thought she looked drawn, even ill, and there was something forced in Tonks' smile. Certainly her appearance was less colorful than usual without her customary shade of bubble-gum-pink hair.

"How're you feeling?" Christina asked as Tonks' took off her shoes and placed them neatly by the door. Tonks' eyes, red from just crying or perhaps lack of sleep . . .

"Ah you know, same as you I bet."

"Well-er, you were in St. Mungo's right?" Christina asked, confused to the comparison between herself and Tonks.

"Oh, yes, that, right. Yes I'm fine from that." There was an awkward silence and it was thankfully Ginny who broke it.

"Ron's been begging us to play with him for the upcoming Quidditch season, want to practice a bit?"

"Yeah . . . sure."

Tonks remained as sullen as every through out the day, her gift to Christina was equally depressing: a handwritten letter on the effects of a love-one dying from her own personal account and a picture of Sirius to keep close to her. Christina had no intention of talking to Tonks about Sirius but it seemed she really wanted to . . . fortunately once Fred and George showed up for dinner she knew she was in a safe no-Sirius-talk zone.

Fred and George bewitched a number of purple lanterns, all emblazoned with a large number 22, to hang in midair over the guests in the kitchen. Tonks made purple and gold streamers erupt from the end of her wand and drape themselves artistically over the cabinets.

"Nice," said Ron, as with one final flourish of her wand, Tonks turned the handles on the cabinets to gold. "You've really got an eye for that sort of thing."

"Thanks, Ron!" said Tonks, "Something I learned growing up . . . " to which Tonks became misty-eyed again and excused herself from the kitchen.

"Out of the way, out of the way" sang Mrs. Weasley, coming through the door with what appeared to be a giant broomstick floating in front of her. Seconds later Christina realized that it was her birthday cake, which Mrs. Weasley was suspending with her wand, rather than risk carrying it over the uneven ground and multitude of people. When the cake had finally landed in the middle of the table, Christina said, "That looks amazing, Mrs. Weasley."

"Oh, it's nothing, dear." she said fondly. Over her shoulder, Ron gave Christina the thumbs-up and mouthed, _Good one_.

By seven o'clock all the guests had arrived; led into the house by Fred and George, who had waited for them at the end of the lane. Although Lupin smiled as he hugged Christina, she thought he looked rather unhappy. It was all very odd; Tonks, beside him, looked equally dismal. Although the mood changed with as grand an entrance as ever, Bill and Fleur had arrived.

"Ah, we made eet! My new family!" said Fleur tossing her silvery-blonde hair, still speaking with her deep French accent. Fleur looked exactly as she always did, haughty and unruffled. Bill with an arm around her was positively absorbed into Fleur's presence, most men were. Bill and Fleur were hugging Mr. and Mrs. Weasley when Ginny tapped Christina on the shoulder.

"Don't say anything but fat-head has a smaller ring than yours . . . do you think she'll cry?" Ginny whispered menacingly. Christina eyed Fleur's hand which indeed had a smaller rock, but to be fair, Christina could produce diamonds from swamp scum so it wasn't really a matter of wealth.

"Christina! How long haz it been? I heard I'm not ze only engaged one!" Fleur descended upon Christina kissing both of her cheeks and horror of horrors, picked up her left hand for inspection of the ring. She gawked at it and then threw Bill a nasty look. "How on earth did you get zis? It's . . . too gaudy for me but . . . – " Fred stepped in and threw an arm around Christina.

"Fitting for the Tri-Wizard champion!" Christina snorted and elbowed Fred in the ribs.

"Dinner time!" Mrs. Weasley yelled over the now mouth-gaping Fleur Delacour.

The dinner, while casual and quite nice, was freckled with back-handed compliments from Ginny while Fleur talked down to her. Any comments Fleur made about the wedding were quickly ignored by Mrs. Weasley who, Christina was shocked to discover, did not approve of their engagement.

"A bit soon, isn't it? Perhaps a wedding once everything calms down . . ." she offered but Fleur wouldn't hear any of it. She just shook her head, hair wafting a sweet perfume through the room and suddenly the men seemed quite content to just smell the air. Ginny rolled her eyes and Fleur noticed.

"You muz be so excited to get married, Ginny. Ze only girl here without a fiance . . . but of course you ah too young." said Fleur. Fleur must not have known Ginny well because picking a fight with her was similar to picking a fight with a pitbull.

"I'm only a year younger than Christina." Ginny said not even looking at Fleur.

"She es too young too! You ah but children, zis es not zumzting from my culture. We ah more respectful zan zat." Christina was now getting annoyed as well, and put down her fork to raise an eyebrow at Bill who was watching her speak as though she were only talking sweet nothings.

The food, as always, was delicious and not before long everyone started dispersing from around the table, leaving just Christina, Fred, Ron and Ginny.

"Dumbledore reckons Harry will be here way sooner than last summer!" Ron said excitedly.

"Where'd you hear that?" asked Christina.

"Dad." Ron and Ginny said together.

"Well he definitely deserves a better summer than last one . . . but would he stay here? It's getting a bit cramped isn't it?" Fred chimed in.

"I think mum would sooner offer her bed than have Harry NOT stay with us" Ginny joked.

"Might as well throw Hermione in the mix, could she come?" Christina asked half-joking. However, when Mrs. Weasley heard about the prospect of having everyone at the Burrow she leapt at the idea and before Christina even realized the plan was coming to fruition, Hermione was at the Burrow, trunk and all.

"Well my parents were quite disappointed I wouldn't be able to attend the holiday with them, you see, we were going to-"

"Harry's coming!" Ron shouted, bursting into the girls' room. Ginny stood up at once. "Now?"

"Yeah! Mum said Dumbeldore was bringing him!" Ron said grinning ear-to-ear. Just then a loud thud came from upstairs.

"Well, that ought to be his trunk then." Hermione said getting up as well, lending a hand for Christina to stand. Ron and the girls went downstairs to see if Harry had arrived in the kitchen but were instead greeted by Mrs. Weasley and Albus Dumbledore.

"Good evening, Professor Dumbledore!" Hermione said, extending an arm for a handshake. Professor Dumbledore greeted them all warmly.

"Are you here for . . . dessert?" Christina was about to say dinner but caught herself mid-sentence.

"Good evening indeed, children. Unfortunately, I cannot stay for any dessert, in fact, I'm only here to take Ms. Bataskill here to help me with something. All eyes moved to Christina.

"Oh . . . er, okay . . . do I need to bring anything?" she asked, shaking off the stares.

"Just yourself. And I don't mean to be impatient, but it would be wholly beneficial if we left now." Dumbeldore stated, then held out his forearm for Christina to take. Christina moved to Professor Dumbledore and then turned to Hermione, Ron and Ginny.

"Tell Fred I-" but before she could finish Dumbledore's arm had touched her's and Christina felt the very familiar sensation of Dumbledore's arm twisting away from her; the next thing she knew, everything went black; she was being pressed very hard from all directions; she could not breathe, there were iron bands tightening around her chest; her eyeballs were being forced back into her head; her eardrums were being pushed deeper into her skull – And then she gasped the humid air as she landed on solid ground.


	2. Chapter 2: Horace Slughorn

Christina's feet hit the pavement hard and she fell over onto her hands and knees to catch herself. "Sorry dear, didn't mean to cut you off. If you could, I'll only be a minute I need to collect Mr. Potter for our task." Christina pushed herself off the ground and looked up to find herself and Dumbledore on a quiet residential street.

Despite it being the dead of night it was still quite hot on Privet Drive. Christina sat on the curb watching Dumbledore mosey on down to Harry's. She hadn't seen him in two weeks and she wasn't quite sure what Harry was going to remember her by; the intense fight they had in Dumbledore's office or the tearful goodbye at King's Cross . . . either way, it was going to be awkward. Five minutes passed before Christina found it too hot to sit on the sidewalk so she started walking around, attempting to preoccupy her mind from the embarrassment she felt about the fight with Harry. She was roamed past a house's front trees when she heard Dumbledore talk to Harry.

"-being attacked tonight." Christina jumped from behind the tree and saw Dumbledore and Harry.

"Hey!"

"Stupefy!" Harry shouted pointing his wand at her. The jinx hit Christina square in the chest and she flew back several feet. She landed hard on the pavement, her back breaking her fall.

"Christina?" she heard Harry say and she yet again helped herself off the gravel. Harry rushed over to lend her a hand and he pulled her up. "I'm so sorry I had no idea it was you!" Christina let out an exhausted laugh.

"It's fine, I probably shouldn't have startled you late at night in the first place. . ." Harry laughed and stowed away his wand.

"How was your summer!" Christina asking while hugging Harry.

"Eh, you know. Same as usual. Although apparently shorter . . . yours?"

"Life at the Burrow is good. Fred's working, Mr. Weasley got a promotion, Fleur Delacour and Bill Weasley are getting married . . . "

"What-?"

"I'd hate to interrupt the reunion, but we are on a time crunch." He came to an abrupt halt at the end of Privet Drive. "You two have not, of course, passed your Apparition Test," he said.

"No," said Harry.

"I thought you had to be twenty-three?" asked Christina.

"You do," said Dumbledore. "So you will need to hold on to my arm very tightly. My left, if you don't mind — as you have noticed, my wand arm is a little fragile at the moment." Christina and Harry gripped Dumbledore's proffered forearm.

"Very good," said Dumbledore. "Well, here we go." and then Christina for the second time that night was forced through a whooshing vortex before the darkness was lifted — She gulped great lungfuls of cold night air and opened her streaming eyes. She felt as though she had just been forced through a very tight rubber tube. It was a few seconds before she realized that Privet Drive had vanished. She, Harry and Dumbledore were now standing in what appeared to be a deserted village square, in the center of which stood an old war memorial and a few benches. Her comprehension catching up with her senses.  
"Are you all right?" asked Dumbledore, looking down at Harry solicitously. "The sensation does take some getting used to."

"I'm fine," said Harry, rubbing his ears, Christina patted him on the shoulder. She had apparated with Fred several times so the feeling was less disturbing to her.

"But I think I might prefer brooms. . . ." Christina and Dumbledore smiled, he drew his traveling cloak a little more tightly around his neck, and said, "This way." He set off at a brisk pace, past an empty inn and a few houses. According to a clock on a nearby church, it was almost midnight.

"So tell me," said Dumbledore. "Your scars . . . have they been hurting at all?" Christina unconsciously ran a finger across her palm and noticed Harry do the same.

"No," Harry said, "and I've been wondering about that. I thought it would be burning all the time now Voldemort's getting so powerful again." He glanced up at Dumbledore and saw that he was wearing a satisfied expression.

"Oh, I thought the opposite. He knows about the connection between us, if he's not going to torment us wouldn't he block off the connection?" Christina asked Dumbeldore and he nodded with a smile.

"It appears that he is now employing Occlumency against you."

"Well, I'm not complaining," said Harry and Christina couldn't agree more. She missed neither the disturbing dreams nor the startling flashes of insight into Voldemort's mind.

They turned a corner, passing a telephone box and a bus shelter. Christina looked sideways at Dumbledore again.

"Professor?"

"Christina?"

"Er — where exactly are we?"

"This, Christina, is the charming village of Budleigh Babberton."

"And what are we doing here?" Harry piped in.

"Ah yes, of course, I haven't told you," said Dumbledore. "Well, I have lost count of the number of times I have said this in recent years, but we are, once again, one member of staff short. We are here to persuade an old colleague of mine to come out of retirement and return to Hogwarts."

"How can we help with that, sir?" asked Harry.

"Oh, I think we'll find a use for you," said Dumbledore vaguely. "Left here, kids."

They proceeded up a steep, narrow street lined with houses. All the windows were dark. The odd chill that had lain over the Burrow for two weeks persisted here too. Thinking of dementors, Christina cast a look over her shoulder and grasped her wand reassuringly in her pocket.

"Professor, why couldn't we just Apparate directly into your old colleague's house?" Christina asked slightly annoyed of the weird situation and lack of information.

"Because it would be quite as rude as kicking down the front door," said Dumbledore. "Courtesy dictates that we offer fellow wizards the opportunity of denying us entry. In any case, most Wizarding dwellings are magically protected from unwanted Apparators. At Hogwarts, for instance —"

"— you can't Apparate anywhere inside the buildings or grounds," said Christina and Harry quickly. They looked to one another and laughed, leaving Dumbledore pleasantly confused.

"Hermione Granger told us." said Harry.

"And she is quite right. We turn left again." The church clock chimed midnight behind them. Christina wondered why Dumbledore did not consider it rude to call on his old colleague so late, but now that conversation had been established, she had more pressing questions to ask.

"Sir, I saw in the Daily Prophet that Fudge has been sacked. . . ."

"Correct, Christina" said Dumbledore, now turning up a steep side street. "He has been replaced, as I am sure you also saw, by Rufus Scrimgeour, who used to be Head of the Auror office."

"Is he . . . Do you think he's good?" asked Harry.

"An interesting question," said Dumbledore. "He is able, certainly. A more decisive and forceful personality than Cornelius."

"Yes, but I meant —"

"I know what you meant. Rufus is a man of action and, having fought Dark wizards for most of his working life, does not underestimate Lord Voldemort." Christina waited, but Dumbledore did not say anything about the disagreement with Scrimgeour that the Daily Prophet had reported, and Harry didn't seem to have the nerve to pursue the subject, so he changed it. "And . . . sir . . . I saw about Madam Bones."

"Yes, Harry" said Dumbledore quietly. "A terrible loss. She was a great witch. Just up here, I think — ouch." He had pointed with his injured hand. Christina spoke up, "Professor, what happened to your — ?"

"I have no time to explain now," said Dumbledore. "It is a thrilling tale, I wish to do it justice." He smiled at Christina, who understood that she was not being snubbed, and that she had permission to keep asking questions.

"Sir — I got a Ministry of Magic leaflet by owl, about security measures we should all take against the Death Eaters. . . ." she asked.

"Yes, I received one myself," said Dumbledore, still smiling. "Did you find it useful?"

"Not really."

"No, I thought not. You have not asked me, for instance, what is my favorite flavor of jam, to check that I am indeed Professor Dumbledore and not an impostor."

"I didn't . . ." Christina began, not entirely sure whether she was being reprimanded or not. "For future reference, for the both of you, it is raspberry . . . although of course, if I were a Death Eater, I would have been sure to research my own jam preferences before impersonating myself."

"Er . . . right," said Christina. "Well, on that leaflet, it said something about Inferi. What exactly are they? The leaflet wasn't very clear."

"They are corpses," said Dumbledore calmly.

"Oh, great." Christina said sarcastically. Dumbledore continued.

"Dead bodies that have been bewitched to do a Dark wizard's bidding. Inferi have not been seen for a long time, however, not since Voldemort was last powerful. . . . He killed enough people to make an army of them, of course. This is the place, just here. . . ." They were nearing a small, neat stone house set in its own garden. Christina was too busy digesting the horrible idea of Inferi to have much attention left for anything else, but as they reached the front gate, Dumbledore stopped dead and Harry walked into him.

"Oh dear. Oh dear, dear, dear." Christina followed his gaze up the carefully tended front path and felt her heart sink. The front door was hanging off its hinges. Dumbledore glanced up and down the street. It seemed quite deserted. Christina looked at Harry who was now clutching his wand.

"Wand out and follow me; Christina feel free to use your natural abilities" he said quietly. Christina rose from the ground only a few inches and glided toward the entrance, breaking down her body to bits to go through the gate then reforming on the otherside. Lifting the fragments of dirt around her, she scanned the house for anything moving. Nothing. Christina heard Dumbledore open the gate and walk swiftly and silently up the garden path, Harry at his heels, then pushed the front door very slowly, his wand raised and at the ready. Christina let him enter first.

"Lumos." Dumbledore's wand tip ignited, casting its light up a narrow hallway. To the left, another door stood open. Holding his illuminated wand aloft, Dumbledore walked into the sitting room with Christina and Harry right behind him.

"There's no one here, Professor." Christina said making Harry jump. "Don't stun me-" she said jokingly to Harry who seemed ready to stun just about anything. However she knew why; a scene of total devastation met their eyes. A grandfather clock lay splintered at their feet, its face cracked, its pendulum lying a little farther away like a dropped sword. A piano was on its side, its keys strewn across the floor. The wreckage of a fallen chandelier glittered nearby. Cushions lay deflated, feathers oozing from slashes in their sides; fragments of glass and china lay like powder over everything. Dumbledore raised his wand even higher, so that its light was thrown upon the walls, where something darkly red and glutinous was spattered over the wallpaper. Harry's small intake of breath made Dumbledore look around.

"Not pretty, is it?" he said heavily. "Yes, something horrible has happened here." Dumbledore moved carefully into the middle of the room, scrutinizing the wreckage at his feet. Christina and Harry followed, gazing around, half-scared of what they might see hidden behind the wreck of the piano or the overturned sofa, but there was no sign of a body.

"Maybe there was a fight and — and they dragged him off, Professor?" Harry suggested, trying not to imagine how badly wounded a man would have to be to leave those stains spattered halfway up the walls.

"I don't think so," said Dumbledore quietly, peering behind an overstuffed armchair lying on its side.

"You mean he's — ?"

"Still here somewhere? Yes." Christina furrowed her brow.

"I searched the whole house for anything moving, if he's here he's probably—" And without warning, Dumbledore swooped, plunging the tip of his wand into the seat of the overstuffed armchair, which yelled, "Ouch!" Christina shrieked and instinctively rose the shards of glass from the floor and aimed them at the talking chair, ready to strike.

"Good evening, Horace," said Dumbledore, straightening up again. Christina's jaw dropped. Where a split second before there had been an armchair, there now crouched an enormously fat, bald, old man who was ogling at Christina.

"Merlin's beard, so it's true, is it?" the man said eyeing Christina. Dumbledore turned around to see the shards of glass still pointing at the chair-man and he gave a faint smile and gestured for Christina to drop her weapons. She did so.

"Sorry." Said Christina, but Horace's mouth had yet to close. Dumbledore's wandlight sparkled on Horace's shiny pate, his prominent eyes, his enormous, silver, walruslike mustache, and the highly polished buttons on the maroon velvet jacket he was wearing over a pair of lilac silk pajamas. The top of his head barely reached Dumbledore's chin.

"What gave it away?" he grunted as he staggered to his feet. He seemed remarkably unabashed for a man who had just been discovered pretending to be an armchair.

"My dear Horace," said Dumbledore, looking amused, "if the Death Eaters really had come to call, the Dark Mark would have been set over the house." The wizard clapped a pudgy hand to his vast forehead.

"The Dark Mark," he muttered. "Knew there was something . . . ah well. Wouldn't have had time anyway, I'd only just put the finishing touches to my upholstery when you entered the room." He heaved a great sigh that made the ends of his mustache flutter.

"Would you like my assistance clearing up?" asked Dumbledore politely.

"Please," said the other.

They stood back to back, the tall thin wizard and the short round one, and waved their wands in one identical sweeping motion. The furniture flew back to its original places; ornaments reformed in midair, feathers zoomed into their cushions; torn books repaired themselves as they landed upon their shelves; oil lanterns soared onto side tables and reignited; a vast collection of splintered silver picture frames flew glittering across the room and alighted, whole and untarnished, upon a desk; rips, cracks, and holes healed everywhere, and the walls wiped themselves clean.

"What kind of blood was that, incidentally?" asked Dumbledore loudly over the chiming of the newly unsmashed grandfather clock.

"On the walls? Dragon," shouted the wizard called Horace, as, with a deafening grinding and tinkling, the chandelier screwed itself back into the ceiling. There was a final plunk from the piano, and silence.

"Yes, dragon," repeated the wizard conversationally. "My last bottle, and prices are sky-high at the moment. Still, it might be reusable." He stumped over to a small crystal bottle standing on top of a sideboard and held it up to the light, examining the thick liquid within. "Hmm. Bit dusty." He set the bottle back on the sideboard and sighed. It was then that his gaze fell upon Harry. "Oho," he said, his large round eyes flying to Harry's forehead and the lightning-shaped scar it bore. "Oho!"

"This," said Dumbledore, moving forward to make the introduction, "is Harry Potter. Harry, this is an old friend and colleague of mine, Horace Slughorn. Horace I see you've already recognized Christina Bataskill" Slughorn turned on Dumbledore, his expression shrewd.

"So that's how you thought you'd persuade me, is it? Well, the answer's no, Albus." He pushed past Harry, his face turned resolutely away with the air of a man trying to resist temptation.

"I suppose we can have a drink, at least?" asked Dumbledore. "For old time's sake?" Slughorn hesitated.

"All right then, one drink," he said ungraciously. Dumbledore smiled at Christina and directed her toward a chair not unlike the one that Slughorn had so recently impersonated, which stood right beside the newly burning fire and a brightly glowing oil lamp. After watching Harry sit in a chair Christina decided it was safe to do so as well.

Christina took the seat with the distinct impression that Dumbledore, for some reason, wanted to keep her and Harry as visible as possible. Certainly when Slughorn, who had been busy with decanters and glasses, turned to face the room again, his eyes fell immediately upon Christina.

"Hmpf," he said, looking away quickly as though frightened of hurting his eyes. "Here —" He gave a drink to Dumbledore, who had sat down without invitation, thrust the tray at Harry, and then sank into the cushions of the repaired sofa and a disgruntled silence. His legs were so short they did not touch the floor. Harry took a drink for himself and handed one to Christina.

"Well, how have you been keeping, Horace?" Dumbledore asked.

"Not so well," said Slughorn at once. "Weak chest. Wheezy. Rheumatism too. Can't move like I used to. Well, that's to be expected. Old age. Fatigue."

"And yet you must have moved fairly quickly to prepare such a welcome for us at such short notice," said Dumbledore.

"You can't have had more than three minutes' warning?" Slughorn said, half irritably, half proudly, "Two. Didn't hear my Intruder Charm go off, I was taking a bath. Still," he added sternly, seeming to pull himself back together again, "the fact remains that I'm an old man, Albus. A tired old man who's earned the right to a quiet life and a few creature comforts." He certainly had those, thought Christina, looking around the room. It was stuffy and cluttered, yet nobody could say it was uncomfortable; there were soft chairs and footstools, drinks and books, boxes of chocolates and plump cushions. If Christina had not known who lived there, she would have guessed at a rich, fussy old lady.

"You're not yet as old as I am, Horace," said Dumbledore.

"Well, maybe you ought to think about retirement yourself," said Slughorn bluntly. His pale gooseberry eyes had found Dumbledore's injured hand. "Reactions not what they were, I see."

"You're quite right," said Dumbledore serenely, shaking back his sleeve to reveal the tips of those burned and blackened fingers; the sight of them made the back of Christina's neck prickle unpleasantly. "I am undoubtedly slower than I was. But on the other hand . . ." He shrugged and spread his hands wide, as though to say that age had its compensations, and Christina noticed a ring on his uninjured hand that he had never seen Dumbledore wear before: It was large, rather clumsily made of what looked like gold, and was set with a heavy black stone that had cracked down the middle. Slughorn's eyes lingered for a moment on the ring too, and Christina saw a tiny frown momentarily crease his wide forehead.

"So, all these precautions against intruders, Horace . . . are they for the Death Eaters' benefit, or mine?" asked Dumbledore.

"What would the Death Eaters want with a poor broken-down old buffer like me?" demanded Slughorn.

"I imagine that they would want you to turn your considerable talents to coercion, torture, and murder," said Dumbledore. "Are you really telling me that they haven't come recruiting yet?"

Slughorn eyed Dumbledore balefully for a moment, then muttered, "I haven't given them the chance. I've been on the move for a year. Never stay in one place more than a week. Move from Muggle house to Muggle house — the owners of this place are on holiday in the Canary Islands — it's been very pleasant, I'll be sorry to leave. It's quite easy once you know how, one simple Freezing Charm on these absurd burglar alarms they use instead of Sneakoscopes and make sure the neighbors don't spot you bringing in the piano."

"Ingenious," said Dumbledore. "But it sounds a rather tiring existence for a broken-down old buffer in search of a quiet life. Now, if you were to return to Hogwarts —"

"If you're going to tell me my life would be more peaceful at that pestilential school, you can save your breath, Albus! I might have been in hiding, but some funny rumors have reached me since Dolores Umbridge left! If that's how you treat teachers these days —"

"Professor Umbridge ran afoul of our centaur herd," said Dumbledore. "I think you, Horace, would have known better than to stride into the forest and call a horde of angry centaurs 'filthy halfbreeds.' "

"That's what she did, did she?" said Slughorn. "Idiotic woman. Never liked her." Christina barked a laugh and both Dumbledore and Slughorn looked round at her.

"Sorry," Christina said hastily. "It's just — I didn't like her either." Dumbledore stood up rather suddenly.

"Are you leaving?" asked Slughorn at once, looking hopeful.

"No, I was wondering whether I might use your bathroom," said Dumbledore.

"Oh," said Slughorn, clearly disappointed. "Second on the left down the hall." Dumbledore strode from the room. Once the door had closed behind him, there was silence. After a few moments, Slughorn got to his feet but seemed uncertain what to do with himself. He shot a furtive look at Christina and Harry, then crossed to the fire and turned his back on it, warming his wide behind.

"Don't think I don't know why he's brought you two," he said abruptly. Christina merely looked at Slughorn. Slughorn's watery eyes slid over Harry's scar, this time taking in the rest of his face. "You look very like your father."

"Yeah, I've been told," said Harry.

"Except for your eyes. You've got —"

"My mother's eyes, yeah."

"Hmpf. Yes, well. You shouldn't have favorites as a teacher, of course, but she was one of mine. Your mother," Slughorn added, in answer to Harry's questioning look. "Lily Evans. One of the brightest I ever taught. Vivacious, you know. Charming girl. I used to tell her she ought to have been in my House. Very cheeky answers I used to get back too."

"Which was your House?"

"I was Head of Slytherin," said Slughorn. "Oh, now," he went on quickly, seeing the expression on Harry's face and wagging a stubby finger at him, "don't go holding that against me! You'll be Gryffindor like her, I suppose? Yes, it usually goes in families. Not always, though. Ever heard of Sirius Black? You must have done — been in the papers for the last couple of years — died a few weeks ago —"

It was as though an invisible hand had twisted Christina's intestines and held them tight. "Well, anyway, he was a big pal of your father's at school. The whole Black family had been in my House, but Sirius ended up in Gryffindor! Shame — he was a talented boy. I got his brother, Regulus, when he came along, but I'd have liked the set." He sounded like an enthusiastic collector who had been outbid at auction. Apparently lost in memories, he gazed at the opposite wall, turning idly on the spot to ensure an even heat on his backside.

"Your mother was Muggle-born, of course. Couldn't believe it when I found out. Thought she must have been pure-blood, she was so good."

"One of our best friends is Muggle-born," said Harry, "and she's the best in our year."

"Funny how that sometimes happens, isn't it?" said Slughorn.

"Not really," said Christina coldly, bitterly thinking about Sirius. Slughorn looked down at her in surprise.

"You mustn't think I'm prejudiced!" he said. "No, no, no! Haven't I just said Harry's mother was one of my all-time favorite students? And there was Dirk Cresswell in the year after her too — now Head of the Goblin Liaison Office, of course — another Muggle-born, a very gifted student, and still gives me excellent inside information on the goings-on at Gringotts!" He bounced up and down a little, smiling in a self-satisfied way, and pointed at the many glittering photograph frames on the dresser, each peopled with tiny moving occupants.

"All ex-students, all signed. You'll notice Barnabas Cuffe, editor of the Daily Prophet, he's always interested to hear my take on the day's news. And Ambrosius Flume, of Honeydukes — a hamper every birthday, and all because I was able to give him an introduction to Ciceron Harkiss, who gave him his first job! And at the back — you'll see her if you just crane your neck — that's Gwenog Jones, who of course captains the Holyhead Harpies. . . . People are always astonished to hear I'm on first-name terms with the Harpies, and free tickets whenever I want them!" This thought seemed to cheer him up enormously.

"And all these people know where to find you, to send you stuff?" asked Christina, who could not help wondering why the Death Eaters had not yet tracked down Slughorn if hampers of sweets, Quidditch tickets, and visitors craving his advice and opinions could find him. The smile slid from Slughorn's face as quickly as the blood from his walls.

"Of course not," he said, looking down at Christina. "I have been out of touch with everybody for a year." Christina had the impression that the words shocked Slughorn himself; he looked quite unsettled for a moment. Then he shrugged. "Still . . . the prudent wizard keeps his head down in such times. All very well for Dumbledore to talk, but taking up a post at Hogwarts just now would be tantamount to declaring my public allegiance to the Order of the Phoenix! And while I'm sure they're very admirable and brave and all the rest of it, I don't personally fancy the mortality rate —"

"You don't have to join the Order to teach at Hogwarts," said Harry, who could not quite keep a note of derision out of his voice: Christina agreed with the tone however, it was hard to sympathize with Slughorn's cosseted existence when she remembered Sirius, crouching in a cave and living on rats.

"Most of the teachers aren't in it, and none of them has ever been killed — well, unless you count Quirrell, and he got what he deserved seeing as he was working with Voldemort." said Harry strongly. Christina had been sure Slughorn would be one of those wizards who could not bear to hear Voldemort's name spoken aloud, and was not disappointed: Slughorn gave a shudder and a squawk of protest, which Harry ignored. "I reckon the staff are safer than most people while Dumbledore's headmaster; he's supposed to be the only one Voldemort ever feared, isn't he?" Harry went on. Slughorn gazed into space for a moment or two: He seemed to be thinking over Harry's words.

"Well, yes, it is true that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has never sought a fight with Dumbledore," he muttered grudgingly.  
"And I suppose one could argue that as I have not joined the Death Eaters, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named can hardly count me a friend . . . in which case, I might well be safer a little closer to Albus. . . . I cannot pretend that Amelia Bones's death did not shake me. . . . If she, with all her Ministry contacts and protection . . ." Dumbledore reentered the room and Slughorn jumped as though he had forgotten he was in the house.

"Oh, there you are, Albus," he said. "You've been a very long time. Upset stomach?"

"No, I was merely reading the Muggle magazines," said Dumbledore. "I do love knitting patterns. Well, we have trespassed upon Horace's hospitality quite long enough; I think it is time for us to leave." Not at all reluctant to obey, Christina and Harry jumped to their feet. Slughorn seemed taken aback.

"You're leaving?"

"Yes, indeed. I think I know a lost cause when I see one."

"Lost. . . ?" Slughorn seemed agitated. He twiddled his fat thumbs and fidgeted as he watched Dumbledore fasten his traveling cloak, and Harry zip up his jacket.

"Well, I'm sorry you don't want the job, Horace," said Dumbledore, raising his uninjured hand in a farewell salute. "Hogwarts would have been glad to see you back again. Our greatly increased security notwithstanding, you will always be welcome to visit, should you wish to."

"Yes . . . well . . . very gracious . . . as I say . . ."

"Good-bye, then." Said Christina.

"Bye," said Harry.

They were at the front door when there was a shout from behind them. "All right, all right, I'll do it!" Dumbledore turned to see Slughorn standing breathless in the doorway to the sitting room. "You will come out of retirement?"

"Yes, yes," said Slughorn impatiently. "I must be mad, but yes."

"Wonderful," said Dumbledore, beaming. "Then, Horace, we shall see you on the first of September."

"Yes, I daresay you will," grunted Slughorn. As they set off down the garden path, Slughorn's voice floated after them, "I'll want a pay rise, Dumbledore!" Dumbledore chuckled. The garden gate swung shut behind them, and they set off back down the hill through the dark and the swirling mist.

"Well done, kids," said Dumbledore.

"I didn't do anything, he just liked Harry's mum" said Christina, yet again annoyed at Harry's mum and dad for taking the spotlight. "

Oh yes you did. You showed Horace exactly how much he stands to gain by returning to Hogwarts. Did you like him?"

"Er . . ." Christina wasn't sure whether she liked Slughorn or not. She supposed he had been pleasant in his way, but he had also seemed vain and, whatever he said to the contrary, much too surprised that a Muggle-born should make a good witch.

"Horace," said Dumbledore, relieving Christina and Harry of the responsibility to say any of this, "likes his comfort. He also likes the company of the famous, the successful, and the powerful. He enjoys the feeling that he influences these people. He has never wanted to occupy the throne himself; he prefers the backseat — more room to spread out, you see. He used to handpick favorites at Hogwarts, sometimes for their ambition or their brains, sometimes for their charm or their talent, and he had an uncanny knack for choosing those who would go on to become outstanding in their various fields. Horace formed a kind of club of his favorites with himself at the center, making introductions, forging useful contacts between members, and always reaping some kind of benefit in return, whether a free box of his favorite crystalized pineapple or the chance to recommend the next junior member of the Goblin Liaison Office."

"I tell you all this," Dumbledore continued, "not to turn you against Horace — or, as we must now call him, Professor Slughorn — but to put you on your guard. He will undoubtedly try to collect the two of you. You would be the crown jewels of his collection; 'the Boy Who Lived' . . . or, as they call you these days, 'the Chosen Ones' and to have someone with natural abilities as well as a 'Chosen One' well . . . he's never quite had anything like either of you."

At these words, a chill that had nothing to do with the surrounding mist stole over Christina. She was reminded of words she had heard a few weeks ago, words that had a horrible and particular meaning to her: Neither can live while the other survives . . .

Dumbledore had stopped walking, level with the church they had passed earlier.

"This will do. If you both will grasp my arm." Braced this time, Christina was ready for the Apparition, but still found it unpleasant. When the pressure disappeared and she found herself able to breathe again, they were standing in a country lane beside Dumbledore and looking ahead to the crooked silhouette of her second favorite building in the world: the Burrow. In spite of the feeling of dread that had just swept through her, her spirits could not help but lift at the sight of it.

"If you don't mind, Harry," said Dumbledore, as they passed through the gate, "I'd like a few words with Christina before we part. In private. Perhaps in here?" Dumbledore pointed toward a run-down stone outhouse where the Weasleys kept their broomsticks. A little puzzled, Christina followed Dumbledore through the creaking door into a space a little smaller than the average cupboard. Harry waved goodbye to the both of them.

Inside the cupboard Dumbledore illuminated the tip of his wand, so that it glowed like a torch, and smiled down at Christina. "I hope you will forgive me for mentioning it, Christina, but I am pleased and a little proud at how well you seem to be coping after everything that happened at the Ministry. Permit me to say that I think Sirius would have been proud of you." Christina swallowed; her voice seemed to have deserted her. She did not think she could stand to discuss Sirius; it had been painful enough to hear Sirius's name thrown out casually by Slughorn.

"It was cruel," said Dumbledore softly, "that you and Sirius had such a short time together. A brutal ending to what should have been a long and happy relationship." Christina nodded, her eyes fixed resolutely on the spider now climbing Dumbledore's hat.

"It's just hard," Christina said finally, in a low voice, "to suddenly have a parent and for that to be taken away a second time . . ." Her eyes burned suddenly and she blinked. She and Sirius had had a bond that no one could deny it destroyed her to know that she was back to dealing with Lupin's misguided attempts at parental love.

"Sirius represented much to you that you had never known before," said Dumbledore gently. "Naturally, the loss is devastating. . . ."

"But while I was at the Burrow . . ." interrupted Christina, her voice growing stronger, "I realized I can't shut myself away or — or crack up. Sirius wouldn't have wanted that, would he? And anyway, life's too short. . . . Look at Madam Bones, look at Emmeline Vance. . . . It could be me next, couldn't it? But if it is," she said fiercely, now looking straight into Dumbledore's blue eyes gleaming in the wandlight, "I'll make sure I take as many Death Eaters with me as I can, and Voldemort too if I can manage it."

"Spoken like Sirius's true daughter." said Dumbledore, with an approving pat on Christina's back. "I take my hat off to you — or I would, if I were not afraid of showering you in spiders. "And now, Christina, on a closely related subject . . . I gather that you have been taking the Daily Prophet over the last two weeks?"

"Yes," said Christina, and her heart beat a little faster.

"Then you will have seen that there have been not so much leaks as floods concerning your adventure in the Hall of Prophecy?"

"Yes," said Christina again. "And now everyone knows that Harry and I—"

"No, they do not," interrupted Dumbledore. "There are only two people in the whole world who know the full contents of the prophecy made about you and Lord Voldemort, and they are both standing in this smelly, spidery broom shed. It is true, however, that many have guessed, correctly, that Voldemort sent his Death Eaters to steal a prophecy, and that the prophecy concerned you.

"Now, I think I am correct in saying that you have not told anybody that you know what the prophecy said?"

"No," said Christina.

"A wise decision, on the whole," said Dumbledore. "Although I think you ought to relax it in favor of your friends, Mr. Fred and Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger. Yes," he continued, when Christina looked startled, "I think they ought to know. You do them a disservice by not confiding something this important to them."

"I didn't want —"

"— to worry or frighten them?" said Dumbledore, surveying Christina over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "Or perhaps, to confess that you yourself are worried and frightened? You need your friends, Christina. As you so rightly said, Sirius would not have wanted you to shut yourself away." Christina said nothing, but Dumbledore did not seem to require an answer. He continued, "On a different, though related, subject, it is my wish that you and Harry take private lessons with me this year."

"Private — with you?" said Christina, surprised out of her preoccupied silence.

"Yes. I think it is time that I took a greater hand in your education."

"What will you be teaching us, sir?"

"Oh, a little of this, a little of that," said Dumbledore airily. Christina waited hopefully, but Dumbledore did not elaborate, so she asked something else that had been bothering her slightly.

"If I'm having lessons with you, I won't have to do Occlumency lessons with Snape, will I?"

"Professor Snape, Christina — and no, you will not."

"Good," said Christina in relief, "because they were a —" She stopped, careful not to say what she really thought.

"I think the word 'fiasco' would be a good one here," said Dumbledore, nodding. Christina laughed. "Well, that means I won't see much of Professor Snape from now on," he said, "because he won't let me carry on Potions unless I get 'Outstanding' in my O.W.L., which I know I haven't."

"Don't count your owls before they are delivered," said Dumbledore gravely. "Which, now I think of it, ought to be some time later today. Now, two more things, Harry, before we part.

"Firstly, I wish you to use your abilities at all times from this moment onward. Even within Hogwarts itself. Just in case, you understand me?" Christina nodded and grinned, excited at the prospect. "And lastly, while you stay here, the Burrow has been given the highest security the Ministry of Magic can provide. These measures have caused a certain amount of inconvenience to Arthur and Molly — all their post, for instance, is being searched at the Ministry before being sent on. They do not mind in the slightest, for their only concern is your safety. However, it would be poor repayment if you risked your neck while staying with them."

"I understand," said Christina quickly.

"Very well, then, let Harry know about the private lessons and the security measures . . ." said Dumbledore, pushing open the broom shed door and stepping out into the yard. "I see a light in the kitchen. I won't keep you from your betrothed for long." He winked, and apparated.


	3. Chapter 3: Owls and Eggs

CHAPTER THREE

Christina and Dumbledore approached the back door of the Burrow, where Harry had been waiting which was surrounded by the familiar litter of old Wellington boots and rusty cauldrons; Christina could hear the soft clucking of sleepy chickens coming from a distant shed. Dumbledore knocked three times and Christina saw sudden movement behind the kitchen window.

"Who's there?" said a nervous voice she recognized as Mrs. Weasley's. "Declare yourself!"

"It is I, Dumbledore, bringing Harry and Christina." The door opened at once. There stood Mrs. Weasley, short, plump, and wearing an old green dressing gown.

"Harry, dear! Gracious, Albus, you gave me a fright, you said not to expect you before morning!"

"We were lucky," said Dumbledore, ushering Christina and Harry over the threshold. "Slughorn proved much more persuadable than I had expected. Their doing, of course. Ah, hello, Nymphadora!" Christina looked around and saw that Mrs. Weasley was not alone, despite the lateness of the hour. A young witch with a pale, heart-shaped face and mousy brown hair was sitting at the table clutching a large mug between her hands.

"Hello, Professor," she said. "Wotcher, Harry, Christina." She nodded to the two of them respectively.

"Hi, Tonks." said Harry. Christina smiled in her direction knowing that she probably wasn't in the mood to talk.

"I'd better be off," she said quickly, standing up and pulling her cloak around her shoulders. "Thanks for the tea and sympathy, Molly."

"Please don't leave on my account," said Dumbledore courteously, "I cannot stay, I have urgent matters to discuss with Rufus Scrimgeour."

"No, no, I need to get going," said Tonks, not meeting Dumbledore's eyes. " 'Night —"

"Dear, why not come to dinner at the weekend, Remus and Mad-Eye are coming — ?"

"No, really, Molly . . . thanks anyway . . . Good night, everyone. Tonks hurried past Dumbledore, Christina and Harry into the yard; a few paces beyond the doorstep, she turned on the spot and vanished into thin air. Christina noticed that Mrs. Weasley looked troubled.

"Well, I shall see you both at Hogwarts," said Dumbledore. "Take care of yourself. Molly, your servant." He made Mrs. Weasley a bow and followed Tonks, vanishing at precisely the same spot. Mrs. Weasley closed the door on the empty yard and then steered Harry by the shoulders into the full glow of the lantern on the table to examine his appearance.

"You're like Ron," she sighed, looking him up and down. "Both of you look as though you've had Stretching Jinxes put on you. I swear Ron's grown four inches since I last bought him school robes. Are either of you hungry?"

"Nah I'm gonna head up to bed. Thanks Mrs. Weasley!" Christina said as she headed for the stairs. In all honesty, she was hungry but had no interest in being awake any longer, and anyways Fred would be back by now and she had loads to tell him.

"Yeah, I am," said Harry.

"Sit down, dear, I'll knock something up." The last thing Christina heard before reaching her and Fred's bedroom landing was, "So Hermione's here?"

Christina entered the bedroom to sadly discover that Fred wasn't there. He's normally here by now . . . surely he wouldn't still be at work? Did something happen? Christina felt around the house to see who was there and only found the usual suspects, no Fred . . . in a panic Christina rushed down the stairs to confront Mrs. Weasley.

"Is Fred—"

"He's staying at Diagon Alley tonight, dear! We weren't expecting you until the morning." Said Mrs. Weasley already guessing Christina's question. Christina let out a sigh of relief and gave another wave to Mrs. Weasley and Harry goodnight. Trudging back upstairs was much more difficult now that she was still hungry and also didn't have Fred to sleep with but she moseyed on into her bed anyways and after battling with her stomach, finally fell asleep.

Christina awoke quite rudely the next morning to Fleur leaning over her to speak, although her thick French accent led to Fleur spitting on Christina's face.

"Eet is time for breakfaz, Chriztinah!" Christina wiped off her face to and saw Fleur leave just as Ginny entered.

"Well I'm glad I'm not the only one." Ginny was in her pajamas with her arms crossed, rolling her eyes. Christina sat up in the bed and yawned.

"It's like she doesn't even know she's awful." Ginny sat on the edge of her bed and laughed.

"Mum hates her too, I've been thinking of referring her as Phlegm, perfect isn't it?" Christina laughed heartily as she put on slippers, Ginny got up as well and they made their way out of the room.

"Do you think she'd be offended if she weren't invited to Fred and my wedding?" Christina joked as they walked down the rickety stairs.

"Please, oh please Christina, it would make my year if you didn't invite her. I'd love to see the look of Phlegm's face . . ."

Christina and Ginny reached the breakfast table and before Christina could have a bit of toast Ron was already interrogating her as to her night with Professor Dumbledore.

"Come off it, where did you, Harry and Dumbledore run off to?"

"It honestly wasn't that interesting, he just wanted to see—wait where is Harry?"

"He must still be asleep . . . " said Hermione.

"Phlegm didn't wake him up?" Christina asked.

"Phlegm?" asked Ron. Ginny giggled.

"That's what we're calling Fleur. You can't say it isn't accurate." Ginny said sneering into another bite of eggs. Hermione laughed slightly, Christina assumed that she did agree although didn't want to.

"Honestly, you girls are too mean to her. Bill likes her."

"Gee, I wonder why." Christina laughed. Just then Harry entered, hair disheveled, pajamas on, yawning widely.

"Harry!" Hermione reached him first throwing herself into a hug. Harry staggered back as Ron and Ginny joined the mix. Christina laughed.

"Good sleep?" asked Christina.

"Short one." He said in a laugh.

"All right?" asked Hermione. Harry joined the table, helping himself to food.

"Never been better," said Harry. "You?"

"Not bad," said Ron sitting back down as well. "Were the Muggles all right? Did they treat you okay?" "Same as usual," said Harry, "they didn't talk to me much, but I like it better that way. How're you, Hermione?"

"Oh, I'm fine," said Hermione, who was scrutinizing Harry as though he was sickening for something. Christina thought she knew what was behind this, and as she had no wish to discuss Sirius's death or any other miserable subject at the moment, she said, "Oh right, so we were off with Dumbledore last night!" Christina reminded.

"It wasn't that exciting. He just wanted us to help him persuade this old teacher to come out of retirement. His name's Horace Slughorn." Harry informed the rest.

"Oh," said Ron, looking disappointed. "We thought —" Hermione flashed a warning look at Ron, and Ron changed tack at top speed. "— we thought it'd be something like that."

"You did?" said Harry, amused.

"Yeah . . . yeah, now Umbridge has left, obviously we need a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, don't we? So, er, what's he like?"

"He looks a bit like a walrus, and he used to be Head of Slytherin," said Christina. "Something wrong, Hermione?" She was watching Harry as though expecting strange symptoms to manifest themselves at any moment. She rearranged her features hastily in an unconvincing smile.

"No, of course not! So, um, did Slughorn seem like he'll be a good teacher?"

"Dunno," said Harry. "He can't be worse than Umbridge, can he?"

"I know someone who's worse than Umbridge," said Ginny.

"I know," said Hermione, dropping her voice. "She's so full of herself." Christina laughed, Phlegm.

"Can't you two lay off her for five seconds?" Ron said bitingly.

"Oh, that's right, defend her," snapped Ginny. "We all know you can't get enough of her." Harry seemed confused and said, "Who are you — ?" But his question was answered before he could finish it. The kitchen door flew open again, and in walks Fleur Delacour.

" 'Arry," she said in a throaty voice. "Eet 'as been too long!" As she swept over the threshold toward him, Mrs. Weasley was revealed, bobbing along in her wake, looking rather cross. "There was no need to clean in here, I was just about to do it myself!"

"Eet es no trouble," said Fleur Delacour, swooping to kiss Harry on each cheek.

"I 'ave been longing to see 'im. You remember my seester, Gabrielle? She never stops talking about 'Arry Potter. She will be delighted to see you again."

"Oh . . . is she here too?" Harry croaked.

"No, no, silly boy," said Fleur with a tinkling laugh, "I mean next summer, when we — but do you not know?" Her great blue eyes widened and she looked reproachfully at Mrs. Weasley, who said, "We hadn't got around to telling him yet." Fleur turned back to Harry, swinging her silvery sheet of hair so that it whipped Mrs. Weasley across the face. "Bill and I are going to be married!"

"Oh, yes Christina mentioned it . . ." said Harry blankly. Christina, Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, and Ginny were all determinedly avoiding one another's gaze.

"Wow. Er — congratulations!" She swooped down upon him and kissed him again.

"Bill is very busy at ze moment, working very 'ard, and I only work part-time at Gringotts for my Eenglish, so he brought me 'ere for a few days to get to know 'is family properly. I was so pleased to 'ear you would be coming — zere isn't much to do 'ere, unless you like cooking and chickens! Well — enjoy your breakfast, 'Arry!" With these words she turned gracefully and seemed to float out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her. Mrs. Weasley made a noise that sounded like "tchah!"

"Mum hates her," said Ginny quietly.

"I do not hate her!" said Mrs. Weasley in a cross whisper. "I just think they've hurried into this engagement, that's all!"

"Fred and Christina just got engaged! And Bill and Fleur have known each other a year," said Ron, who looked oddly groggy and was staring at the closed door.

"Well, that's not very long! I know why it's happened, of course. It's all this uncertainty with You-Know-Who coming back, people think they might be dead tomorrow, so they're rushing all sorts of decisions they'd normally take time over. It was the same last time he was powerful, people eloping left, right, and center —"

"Including you and Dad," said Ginny slyly.

"Yes, well, your father and I were made for each other, what was the point in waiting?" said Mrs. Weasley. "Same with you and Fred dear," Mrs. Weasley said smiling at Christina, "you're both very—erm, well—"

"Rebellious." Christina said making the connection so Mrs. Weasley didn't have to feel bad about doing so.

"Whereas Bill and Fleur . . . well . . . what have they really got in common? He's a hardworking, down-to-earth sort of person, whereas she's —"

"A cow," said Ginny, nodding.

"But Bill's not that down-to-earth. He's a Curse-Breaker, isn't he, he likes a bit of adventure, a bit of glamour. . . . I expect that's why he's gone for Phlegm."

"Stop calling her that, Ginny," said Mrs. Weasley sharply, as Harry and Hermione laughed. "Well, I'd better get on. . . . Eat your eggs while they're warm, Harry." Looking careworn, she left the room. Ron still seemed slightly punch-drunk; he was shaking his head experimentally like a dog trying to rid its ears of water.

"Don't you get used to her if she's staying in the same house?" Harry asked.

"Well, you do," said Ron, "but if she jumps out at you unexpectedly, like then . . ."

"It's pathetic," said Hermione furiously, striding away from Ron as far as she could go and turning to face him with her arms folded once she had reached the wall.

"You don't really want her around forever?" Ginny asked Ron incredulously. When he merely shrugged, she said, "Well, Mum's going to put a stop to it if she can, I bet you anything."

"How's she going to manage that?" asked Harry.

"She keeps trying to get Tonks round for dinner. I think she's hoping Bill will fall for Tonks instead. I hope he does, I'd much rather have her in the family."

"Yeah, that'll work," said Ron sarcastically. "Listen, no bloke in his right mind's going to fancy Tonks when Fleur's around. I mean, Tonks is okay-looking when she isn't doing stupid things to her hair and her nose, but —"

"She's a damn sight nicer than Phlegm,'' said Christina

"And she's more intelligent, she's an Auror!" said Hermione from the corner.

"Fleur's not stupid, she was good enough to enter the Triwizard Tournament," said Harry.

"Not you as well!" said Hermione bitterly.

"I suppose you like the way Phlegm says ' 'Arry,' do you?" asked Ginny scornfully.

"No," said Harry, wishing he hadn't spoken, "I was just saying, Phlegm — I mean, Fleur —"

"I'd much rather have Tonks in the family," said Ginny. "At least she's a laugh."

"She hasn't been much of a laugh lately," said Ron. "Every time I've seen her she's looked more like Moaning Myrtle."

"That's not fair," snapped Hermione. "She still hasn't got over what happened . . . you know . . . I mean, he was her cousin!" Christina's heart sank. They had arrived at Sirius. She picked up a fork and began shoveling scrambled eggs into her mouth, hoping to deflect any invitation to join in this part of the conversation.

"Tonks and Sirius barely knew each other!" said Ron. "Sirius was in Azkaban half her life and before that their families never met —"

"That's not the point," said Hermione. "She thinks it was her fault he died!"

"How does she work that one out?" asked Harry, in spite of himself.

"Well, she was fighting Bellatrix Lestrange, wasn't she? I think she feels that if only she had finished her off, Bellatrix couldn't have killed Sirius."

"That's stupid," said Ron.

"It's survivor's guilt," said Hermione. "I know Lupin's tried to talk her round, but she's still really down. She's actually having trouble with her Metamorphosing!"

"With her — ?" asked Harry.

"She can't change her appearance like she used to," explained Hermione. "I think her powers must have been affected by shock, or something."

"I didn't know that could happen," said Christina, now worried for herself.

"Nor did I," said Hermione, "but I suppose if you're really depressed . . ." The door opened again and Mrs. Weasley popped her head in.

"Ginny," she whispered, "come downstairs and help me with the lunch."

"I'm talking to this lot!" said Ginny, outraged.

"Now!" said Mrs. Weasley, and withdrew.

"She only wants me there so she doesn't have to be alone with Phlegm!" said Ginny crossly. She swung her long red hair around in a very good imitation of Fleur and pranced across the room with her arms held aloft like a ballerina.

"You lot had better come down quickly too," she said as she left. It was silent before Harry thankfully didn't bring up Sirius.

"Your mum said the shop's going well," said Harry. "Said Fred and George have got a real flair for business."

"That's an understatement," said Christina. "They're raking in the Galleons! I can't wait to see the place, we haven't been to Diagon Alley yet, because apparently we have to wait for Mr. Weasley to go with us for extra security and he's been really busy at work, but it sounds excellent."

"And what about Percy?" asked Harry; the third-eldest Weasley brother had fallen out with the rest of the family. "Is he talking to your mum and dad again?"

"Nope," said Ron. "But he knows your dad was right all along now about Voldemort being back —" "Dumbledore says people find it far easier to forgive others for being wrong than being right," said Hermione. "I heard him telling your mum, Ron."

"Sounds like the sort of mental thing Dumbledore would say," said Ron.

"Oh!" Christina suddenly remembered she had a message for Harry, "Harry, he meant me to tell you but I only just remembered, he wants us to take lessons together."

"Just you and me?"

"With Dumbledore, yeah." Ron choked on his bit of toast, and Hermione gasped.

"You kept that quiet!" said Ron.

"I only just remembered," said Christina honestly. "He told me last night in your broom shed."

"Blimey . . . private lessons with Dumbledore!" said Ron, looking impressed. "I wonder why he's . . . ?" His voice tailed away. Christina saw him and Hermione exchange looks. Christina laid down her knife and fork, her heart beating rather fast considering that all she was doing was sitting down. Dumbledore had said to do it. . . . Why not now? She fixed her eyes on her fork, which was gleaming in the sunlight streaming into her lap, and said, "I don't know exactly why he's going to be giving us lessons, but I think it must be because of the prophecy."

Neither Ron nor Hermione spoke but Harry dropped his fork giving Christina a dirty look. She continued, still speaking to her fork, "You know, the one they were trying to steal at the Ministry."

"Nobody knows what it said, though," said Hermione quickly. "It got smashed."

"Although the Prophet says —" began Ron, but Hermione said, "Shh!"

"The Prophet's got it right," said Harry, looking up at them both with a great effort: Hermione seemed frightened and Ron amazed.

"That glass ball that smashed wasn't the only record of the prophecy. We heard the whole thing in Dumbledore's office, he was the one the prophecy was made to, so he could tell us. From what it said," Christina took a deep breath, "it looks like we're the ones who's got to finish off Voldemort. . . . At least, it said neither of us could live while the other survives." The four of them gazed at one another in silence for a moment.

". . .We wondered, after we got back from the Ministry . . . Obviously, we didn't want to say anything to either of you, but from what Lucius Malfoy said about the prophecy, how it was about you and Voldemort, well, we thought it might be something like this. . . . Oh, god . . ." She stared at them, then whispered, "Are you scared?"

"Not as much as I was," said Harry. "When I first heard it, I was . . . but now, it seems as though I always knew I'd have to face him in the end. . . ."

"When we heard Dumbledore was collecting you in person, we thought he might be telling you something or showing you something to do with the prophecy," said Ron eagerly. "And we were kind of right, weren't we? He wouldn't be giving you lessons if he thought you were a goner, wouldn't waste his time — he must think you've got a chance!"

"That's true," said Hermione. "I wonder what he'll teach you two? Really advanced defensive magic, probably . . . powerful countercurses . . . anti-jinxes . . ." Christina did not really listen. A warmth was spreading through her that had nothing to do with the sunlight; a tight obstruction in her chest seemed to be dissolving. She knew that Ron and Hermione were more shocked than they were letting on, but the mere fact that they were still there on either side of her, speaking bracing words of comfort, not shrinking from her as though she were contaminated or dangerous, was worth more than she could ever tell them.

". . . and evasive enchantments generally," concluded Hermione. "Well, at least you know one lesson you'll be having this year, that's one more than Ron and me. I wonder when our O.W.L. results will come?"

"Can't be long now, it's been a month," said Ron.

"Hang on," said Christina, as another part of last night's conversation came back to her. "I think Dumbledore said our O.W.L. results would be arriving today!"

"Today?" shrieked Hermione. "Today? But why didn't you — oh my God — you should have said —" Hermione, now sitting at the kitchen table in great agitation staring at the window, didn't even budge when Phlegm entered the room with Ginny and Mrs. Weasley.

"Mrs. Weasley, you're quite, quite sure no owls have arrived this morning?"

"Yes, dear, I'd have noticed," said Mrs. Weasley patiently. "But it's barely nine, there's still plenty of time. . . ."

"I know I messed up Ancient Runes," muttered Hermione feverishly, "I definitely made at least one serious mistranslation. And the Defense Against the Dark Arts practical was no good at all. I thought Transfiguration went all right at the time, but looking back —"

"Hermione, will you shut up, you're not the only one who's nervous!" barked Ron. "And when you've got your eleven 'Outstanding' O.W.L.s . . ."

"Don't, don't, don't!" said Hermione, flapping her hands hysterically. "I know I've failed everything!" "What happens if we fail?" Harry asked the room at large, but it was again Hermione who answered. "We discuss our options with our Head of House, I asked Professor McGonagall at the end of last term." Christina's stomach squirmed. She wished she had eaten less breakfast.

"At Beauxbatons," said Fleur complacently, "we 'ad a different way of doing things. I think eet was better. We sat our examinations after six years of study, not five, and then —" Fleur's words were drowned in a scream. Hermione was pointing through the kitchen window. Three black specks were clearly visible in the sky, growing larger all the time.

"They're definitely owls," said Ron hoarsely, jumping up to join Hermione at the window.

"And there are four of them," said Christina, hastening to her other side.

"One for each of us," said Hermione in a terrified whisper. "Oh no . . . oh no . . . oh no . . ." She gripped Christina, Harry and Ron tightly around the elbows. The owls were flying directly at the Burrow, four handsome tawnies, each of which, it became clear as they flew lower over the path leading up to the house, was carrying a large square envelope.

"Oh no!" squealed Hermione. Mrs. Weasley squeezed past them and opened the kitchen window. One, two, three, four the owls soared through it and landed on the table in a neat line. All four of them lifted their right legs. Christina moved forward. The letter addressed to her was tied to the leg of the owl on the end. She untied it with fumbling fingers. To her right, Ron was trying to detach his own results; to his right, Hermione's hands were shaking so much she was making her whole owl tremble. Nobody in the kitchen spoke. At last, Christina managed to detach the envelope. She slit it open quickly and unfolded the parchment inside.

 **Ordinary Wizarding Level Results**

Pass Grades Fail Grades

Outstanding (O) Poor (P)

Exceeds Expectations (E) Dreadful (D)

Acceptable (A) Troll (T)

 ** _Christina Bataskill has achieved:_**

Astronomy E

Care of Magical Creatures O

Charms O

Defense Against the Dark Arts O

Divination P

Herbology A

History of Magic P

Potions O

Transfiguration E

Christina read the parchment through several times, her breathing becoming easier with each reading. It was all right: She had always known that she would fail Divination, and she had had no chance of passing History of Magic, given that she didn't pay attention to a single class, but she had passed everything else! She ran her finger down the grades . . . she had passed well in Transfiguration and and knew Herbology would be on the lower side of passing . . . And best of all, she had achieved "Outstanding" four times! She looked around. Hermione had her back to Christina and her head bent, but Ron was looking delighted.

"Only failed Divination and History of Magic, and who cares about them?" he said happily.

"Me too!" said Christina, laughing.

"Here — swap —" Christina glanced at Harry's while Harry looked over Ron's and Ron Christina's. Harry had got: Astronomy: A, Care of Magical Creatures: E, Charms: E, Defense Against the Dark Arts: O (no surprises there), Divination: P, Herbology: E, History of Magic: D, Potions: E, and Transfiguration: E. She was shocked he passes Potions although not shocked that Harry also failed History of Magic since he passed out halfway through.

"Knew you'd be top at Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Ron, punching Christina on the shoulder. "We've done all right, haven't we?"

"Well done!" said Mrs. Weasley proudly, ruffling Ron's hair. "Seven O.W.L.s, that's more than Fred and George got together!"

"Hey!" Christina said half joking.

"Hermione?" said Ginny tentatively, for Hermione still hadn't turned around. "How did you do?"

"I — not bad," said Hermione in a small voice.

"Oh, come off it," said Ron, striding over to her and whipping her results out of her hand.

"Yep — nine 'Outstandings' and one 'Exceeds Expectations' at Defense Against the Dark Arts." He looked down at her, half-amused, half-exasperated. "You're actually disappointed, aren't you?" Hermione shook her head, but Harry laughed.

"Well, we're N.E.W.T. students now!" grinned Ron. "Mum, are there any more sausages?"

Christina looked back down at her results. They were as good as she could have hoped for. She felt just one tiny twinge of regret. . . . Another year with Snape.


	4. Chapter 4: Back Room

Christina remained within the confines of the Burrow's garden over the next few weeks. She spent most of her days playing two-a-side Quidditch in the Weasleys' orchard (she and Harry against Ron and Ginny; Ginny was good, so they were reasonably well matched) and her evenings were filled with Fred Weasley and romantic nights away from the others. It would have been a happy, peaceful holiday had it not been for the stories of disappearances, odd accidents, even of deaths now appearing almost daily in the Prophet. Sometimes Bill and Mr. Weasley brought home news before it even reached the paper. To Mrs. Weasley's displeasure, Harry's twenty-second birthday celebrations were marred by grisly tidings brought to the party by Remus Lupin, who was looking gaunt and grim, his brown hair streaked liberally with gray, his clothes more ragged and patched than ever.

"There have been another couple of dementor attacks," he announced, as Mrs. Weasley passed him a large slice of birthday cake. "And they've found Igor Karkaroff's body in a shack up north. The Dark Mark had been set over it — well, frankly, I'm surprised he stayed alive for even a year after deserting the Death Eaters; Sirius's brother, Regulus, only managed a few days as far as I can remember."

"Yes, well," said Mrs. Weasley, frowning, "perhaps we should talk about something diff —"

"Did you hear about Florean Fortescue, Remus?" asked Bill, who was being plied with wine by Fleur.

"The man who ran —"

"— the ice-cream place in Diagon Alley?" Harry interrupted. "He used to give me free ice creams. What's happened to him?"

"Dragged off, by the look of his place."

"Why?" asked Ron, while Mrs. Weasley pointedly glared at Bill.

"Who knows? He must've upset them somehow. He was a good man, Florean."

"Talking of Diagon Alley," said Mr. Weasley, "looks like Ollivander's gone too."

"The wandmaker?" said Ginny, looking startled.

"That's the one. Shop's empty. No sign of a struggle. No one knows whether he left voluntarily or was kidnapped."

"But wands — what'll people do for wands?"

"They'll make do with other makers," said Lupin. "But Ollivander was the best, and if the other side have got him it's not so good for us."

The day after this rather gloomy birthday tea, their letters and booklists arrived from Hogwarts. Harry's included a surprise: He had been made Quidditch Captain.

"That gives you equal status with prefects!" cried Hermione happily. "You can use our special bathroom now and everything!"

"Wow, I remember when Charlie wore one of these," said Ron, examining the badge with glee. "Harry, this is so cool, you're my Captain — if you let me back on the team, I suppose, ha ha. . . ."

"Well, I don't suppose we can put off a trip to Diagon Alley much longer now you've got these," sighed Mrs. Weasley, looking down Ron's booklist. "We'll go on Saturday as long as your father doesn't have to go into work again. I'm not going there without him."

"Mum, d'you honestly think You-Know-Who's going to be hiding behind a bookshelf in Flourish and Blotts?" sniggered Ron.

"Fortescue and Ollivander went on holiday, did they?" said Mrs. Weasley, firing up at once. "If you think security's a laughing matter you can stay behind and I'll get your things myself —"

"No, I wanna come, I want to see Fred and George's shop!" said Ron hastily.

"Then you just buck up your ideas, young man, before I decide you're too immature to come with us!" said Mrs. Weasley angrily, snatching up her clock, all nine hands of which were still pointing at "mortal peril," and balancing it on top of a pile of just-laundered towels. "And that goes for returning to Hogwarts as well!" Ron turned to stare incredulously at Harry as his mother hoisted the laundry basket and the teetering clock into her arms and stormed out of the room. "Blimey . . . you can't even make a joke round here anymore. . . ."

But Ron was careful not to be flippant about Voldemort over the next few days. Saturday dawned and Christina awoke to Fred getting dressed quickly as he always did and she was excited to finally get to see him at work.

"Did I wake you?" Fred said suddenly, buttoning up his shirt and smiling at Christina in bed.

"Button your shirt a little louder why don't you." she joked. She watched Fred rummage through several lavish robes before settling on a magenta pair.

"Gotta look tip-top today, showing my fiancé off at work today." Fred said with a wink, sitting down on the bed to put on his shoes.

"Oh yeah? Do you think she'll like it?" Christina said, snaking her arms around his torso.

"Oh yeah. And if she doesn't? Divorce."

"Yeah, I'd do the same. Bitches be cray." Fred barked out a laugh. "Bitches be cray" he joked in agreement. He finished lacing his shoes and then laid on the bed next to Christina kissing her.

"I'm so excited to see you at the shop today." Christina said in between kisses.

"Make sure you don't tell my fiancé we've been hooking up, okay?" he laughed and Christina playfully hit him. "I gotta go, but I'll see you soon!" said Fred. Christina pulled him in for another kiss. "Love you, jerk."

"Love you too."

Fred apparated to work and Christina went down for breakfast. Bill, who would be staying at home with Fleur (much to Christina, Hermione and Ginny's pleasure), passed a full money bag across the table to Harry, and plopped another one down in front of Christina.

"Where's mine?" demanded Ron at once, his eyes wide.

"That's already Harry's, idiot," said Bill. "I got it out of your vault for you two, because it's taking about five hours for the public to get to their gold at the moment, the goblins have tightened security so much. Two days ago Arkie Philpott had a Probity Probe stuck up his . . . Well, trust me, this way's easier."

"Thanks, Bill," said Harry, pocketing his gold.

"Yeah, thanks!" agreed Christina.

" 'E is always so thoughtful," purred Fleur adoringly, stroking Bill's nose. Ginny mimed vomiting into her cereal behind Fleur. Christina choked over her cornflakes, and Ron thumped her on the back.

It was an overcast, murky day. One of the special Ministry of Magic cars, in which Christina had ridden once before, was awaiting them in the front yard when they emerged from the house, pulling on their cloaks.

"It's good Dad can get us these again," said Ron appreciatively, stretching luxuriously as the car moved smoothly away from the Burrow, Bill and Fleur waving from the kitchen window. She, Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny were all sitting in roomy comfort in the wide backseat.

"Don't get used to it, it's only because of Harry and Christina," said Mr. Weasley over his shoulder. He and Mrs. Weasley were in front with the Ministry driver; the front passenger seat had obligingly stretched into what resembled a two-seater sofa. "They've been given top-grade security status. And we'll be joining up with additional security at the Leaky Cauldron too." Christina said nothing; she was ambivalent. While Dumbledore did give her permission to use her powers in public she still refrained from using them outside the sphere of Fred, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny. Even using them around Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Christina knew it made them slightly uncomfortable.

"Here you are, then," said the driver, a surprisingly short while later, speaking for the first time as he slowed in Charing Cross Road and stopped outside the Leaky Cauldron. "I'm to wait for you, any idea how long you'll be?"

"A couple of hours, I expect," said Mr. Weasley. "Ah, good, he's here!" Christina imitated Mr. Weasley and peered through the window. There were no Aurors waiting outside the inn, but instead the gigantic, black-bearded form of Rubeus Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, wearing a long beaverskin coat, beaming at the sight of Christina's face and oblivious to the startled stares of passing Muggles.

"Harry!" he boomed, sweeping Harry into a bone-crushing hug the moment Harry had stepped out of the car. "Buckbeak — Witherwings, I mean — yeh should see him, Harry, he's so happy ter be back in the open air —"

"Glad he's pleased," said Harry, grinning as he massaged his ribs.

"We didn't know 'security' meant you!" said Christina hugging Hagrid as well.

"I know, jus' like old times, innit? See, the Ministry wanted ter send a bunch o' Aurors, but Dumbledore said I'd do," said Hagrid proudly, throwing out his chest and tucking his thumbs into his pockets. "Let's get goin' then — after yeh, Molly, Arthur —"

The Leaky Cauldron was, for the first time in Christina's memory, completely empty. Only Tom the landlord, wizened and toothless, remained of the old crowd. He looked up hopefully as they entered, but before he could speak, Hagrid said importantly, "Jus' passin' through today, Tom, sure yeh understand, Hogwarts business, yeh know." Tom nodded gloomily and returned to wiping glasses; Christina, Harry, Hermione, Hagrid, and the Weasleys walked through the bar and out into the chilly little courtyard at the back where the dustbins stood. Hagrid raised his pink umbrella and rapped a certain brick in the wall, which opened at once to form an archway onto a winding cobbled street. They stepped through the entrance and paused, looking around. Diagon Alley had changed.

The colorful, glittering window displays of spellbooks, potion ingredients, and cauldrons were lost to view, hidden behind the large Ministry of Magic posters that had been pasted over them. Most of these somber purple posters carried blown-up versions of the security advice on the Ministry pamphlets that had been sent out over the summer, but others bore moving black-and-white photographs of Death Eaters known to be on the loose.

Bellatrix Lestrange was sneering from the front of the nearest apothecary. A few windows were boarded up, including those of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. On the other hand, a number of shabby-looking stalls had sprung up along the street. The nearest one, which had been erected outside Flourish and Blotts, under a striped, stained awning, had a cardboard sign pinned to its front:

 **AMULETS**

 _Effective Against Werewolves, Dementors, and Inferi_

A seedy-looking little wizard was rattling armfuls of silver symbols on chains at passersby.

"One for your little girl, madam?" he called at Mrs. Weasley as they passed, leering at Ginny. "Protect her pretty neck?"

"If I were on duty . . ." said Mr. Weasley, glaring angrily at the amulet seller.

"Yes, but don't go arresting anyone now, dear, we're in a hurry," said Mrs. Weasley, nervously consulting a list. "I think we'd better do Madam Malkin's first, Hermione wants new dress robes, and Ron's showing much too much ankle in his school robes, and you must need new ones too, Harry, you've grown so much — come on, everyone —"

"Molly, it doesn't make sense for all of us to go to Madam Malkin's," said Mr. Weasley. "Why don't those four go with Hagrid, and we can go to Flourish and Blotts and get everyone's schoolbooks?"

"I don't know," said Mrs. Weasley anxiously, clearly torn between a desire to finish the shopping quickly and the wish to stick together in a pack. "Hagrid, do you think — ?"

"Don' fret, they'll be fine with me, Molly," said Hagrid soothingly, waving an airy hand the size of a dustbin lid. Mrs. Weasley did not look entirely convinced, but allowed the separation, scurrying off toward Flourish and Blotts with her husband and Ginny while Christina, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Hagrid set off for Madam Malkin's. Christina noticed that many of the people who passed them had the same harried, anxious look as Mrs. Weasley, and that nobody was stopping to talk anymore; the shoppers stayed together in their own tightly knit groups, moving intently about their business. Nobody seemed to be shopping alone.

"Migh' be a bit of a squeeze in there with all of us," said Hagrid, stopping outside Madam Malkin's and bending down to peer through the window. "I'll stand guard outside, all right?" So Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered the little shop together. It appeared, at first glance, to be empty, but no sooner had the door swung shut behind them than they heard a familiar voice issuing from behind a rack of dress robes in spangled green and blue.

". . . not a child, in case you haven't noticed, Mother. I am perfectly capable of doing my shopping alone." There was a clucking noise and a voice Christina recognized as that of Madam Malkin, the owner, said, "Now, dear, your mother's quite right, none of us is supposed to go wandering around on our own anymore, it's nothing to do with being a child —"

"Watch where you're sticking that pin, will you!" A young man with a pale, pointed face and white-blond hair appeared from behind the rack, wearing a handsome set of dark green robes that glittered with pins around the hem and the edges of the sleeves. He strode to the mirror and examined himself; it was a few moments before he noticed Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione reflected over his shoulder. His light gray eyes narrowed.

"If you're wondering what the smell is, Mother, a Mudblood just walked in," said Draco Malfoy.

"I don't think there's any need for language like that!" said Madam Malkin, scurrying out from behind the clothes rack holding a tape measure and a wand.

"And I don't want wands drawn in my shop either!" she added hastily, for a glance toward the door had shown her Harry and Ron both standing there with their wands out and pointing at Malfoy. Christina was just smirking while Hermione, who was standing slightly behind them, whispered, "No, don't, honestly, it's not worth it. . . ."

"Yeah, like you'd dare do magic out of school," sneered Malfoy. "Heaven knows what the freak will do."

"That's quite enough!" said Madam Malkin sharply, looking over her shoulder for support.

"Madam — please —" Narcissa Malfoy strolled out from behind the clothes rack.

"Put those away," she said coldly to Harry and Ron. "If you attack my son again, I shall ensure that it is the last thing you ever do."

"Really?" said Christina, taking a step forward and gazing into the smoothly arrogant face that, for all its pallor, still resembled her sister's. Christina was as tall as she was now. "Going to get a few Death Eater pals to do us in, are you? Go ahead, cant be that much harder than Voldemort—" Madam Malkin squealed and clutched at her heart.

"Really, you shouldn't accuse — dangerous thing to say — wands away, please!" But Harry did not lower his wand and Christina did not back off. Narcissa Malfoy smiled unpleasantly.

"I see that being Dumbledore's favorite has given you a false sense of security, Christina Bataskill. But Dumbledore won't always be there to protect you." Christina looked mockingly all around the shop.

"Wow . . . look at that . . . he's not here now! So why not have a go? They might be able to find you a double cell in Azkaban with your arse of a husband!" Malfoy made an angry movement toward Christina, but stumbled over a rock wire in the way of his foot cleverly placed by Christina. Ron laughed loudly.

"Don't you dare talk to my mother like that, Babyskill!" Malfoy snarled.

"It's all right, Draco," said Narcissa, restraining him with her thin white fingers upon his shoulder.

"I expect Bataskill will be reunited with dear Sirius before I am reunited with Lucius." This hit a nerve and Christina took that trip wire and now aimed it directly at the Malfoy's. Narcissa quivered in fear. Christina smirked.

"You don't even know what I can do." Christina said menacingly.

"Christina, no!" moaned Hermione, grabbing her arm and attempting to push it down by her side.

"Think. . . . You mustn't. . . . You'll be in such trouble. . . ." Christina let the wire drop to the floor and it crumbled. Madam Malkin dithered for a moment on the spot, then seemed to decide to act as though nothing was happening in the hope that it wouldn't. She bent toward Malfoy, who was still glaring at Christina.

"I think this left sleeve could come up a little bit more, dear, let me just —"

"Ouch!" bellowed Malfoy, slapping her hand away. "Watch where you're putting your pins, woman! Mother — I don't think I want these anymore —" He pulled the robes over his head and threw them onto the floor at Madam Malkin's feet.

"You're right, Draco," said Narcissa, with a contemptuous glance at Hermione, "now I know the kind of scum that shops here. . . . We'll do better at Twilfitt and Tatting's." And with that, the pair of them strode out of the shop, Malfoy taking care to bang as hard as he could into Ron on the way out.

"Well, really!" said Madam Malkin, snatching up the fallen robes and moving the tip of her wand over them like a vacuum cleaner, so that it removed all the dust. She was distracted all through the fitting of Ron's and Harry's new robes, tried to sell Christina and Hermione wizard's dress robes instead of witch's, and when she finally bowed them out of the shop it was with an air of being glad to see the back of them.

"Got ev'rything?" asked Hagrid brightly when they reappeared at his side.

"Just about," said Harry. "Did you see the Malfoys?"

"Yeah," said Hagrid, unconcerned. "Bu' they wouldn' dare make trouble in the middle o' Diagon Alley, Harry. Don' worry abou' them." Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged looks, but before they could disabuse Hagrid of this comfortable notion, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Ginny appeared, all clutching heavy packages of books.

"Everyone all right?" said Mrs. Weasley. "Got your robes? Right then, we can pop in at the Apothecary and Eeylops on the way to Fred and George's — stick close, now. . . ." Since neither Harry nor Ron received Outstandings on their OWLs, only Christina and Hermione purchased ingredients at the Apothecary, but both, including Christina, bought large boxes of owl nuts for Hedwig and Pigwidgeon at Eeylops Owl Emporium. Then, with Mrs. Weasley checking her watch every minute or so, they headed farther along the street in search of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, the joke shop run by Fred and George.

"We really haven't got too long," Mrs. Weasley said. "So we'll just have a quick look around and then back to the car. We must be close, that's number ninety-two . . . ninety-four . . ."

"Whoa," said Ron, stopping in his tracks. Set against the dull, poster-muffled shop fronts around them, Fred and George's windows hit the eye like a firework display. Casual passersby were looking back over their shoulders at the windows, and a few rather stunned-looking people had actually come to a halt, transfixed. The left-hand window was dazzlingly full of an assortment of goods that revolved, popped, flashed, bounced, and shrieked; Christina's eyes began to water just looking at it. The righthand window was covered with a gigantic poster, purple like those of the Ministry, but emblazoned with flashing yellow letters: WHY ARE YOU WORRYING ABOUT YOU-KNOW-WHO? YOU SHOULD BE WORRYING ABOUT U-NO-POO — THE CONSTIPATION SENSATION THAT'S GRIPPING THE NATION! Christina laughed loudly and ran inside, ready to finally see Fred.

It was packed with customers; Christina could not get near the shelves. She stared around, looking up at the boxes piled to the ceiling: Here were the Skiving Snackboxes that the twins had perfected during their last, unfinished year at Hogwarts; Christina noticed that the Nosebleed Nougat was most popular, with only one battered box left on the shelf. There were bins full of trick wands, the cheapest merely turning into rubber chickens or pairs of briefs when waved, the most expensive beating the unwary user around the head and neck, and boxes of quills, which came in Self-Inking, Spell-Checking, and Smart-Answer varieties. A space cleared in the crowd, and Christina pushed her way toward the counter, where a gaggle of delighted fifteen-year-olds was watching a tiny little wooden man slowly ascending the steps to a real set of gallows, both perched on a box that read: reusable hangman — spell it or he'll swing!

" 'Patented Daydream Charms . . .' " Hermione had managed to squeeze through to a large display near the counter and was reading the information on the back of a box bearing a highly colored picture of a handsome youth and a swooning girl who were standing on the deck of a pirate ship.

" 'One simple incantation and you will enter a top-quality, highly realistic, thirty-minute daydream, easy to fit into the average school lesson and virtually undetectable (side effects include vacant expression and minor drooling). Not for sale to under-twenty-one.' You know," said Hermione, looking up at Christina, "that really is extraordinary magic!"

"For that, Hermione," said a voice behind them, "you can have one for free." A beaming Fred stood before them, wearing a set of magenta robes that clashed magnificently with his flaming hair.

"Fred!" Christina jumped and wrapped her legs around his torso as she kissed every inch of his face. "This place is amazing!" She said between kisses.

"Come on, Christina, I'll give you a tour." Christina left Hermione and followed Fred toward the back of the shop, where she saw a stand of card and rope tricks.

"Muggle magic tricks!" said Fred happily, pointing them out. "For freaks like Dad, you know, who love Muggle stuff. It's not a big earner, but we do fairly steady business, they're great novelties. . . . Oh, here's George. . . ."

"George!" Christina gave him a great big hug, she hadn't seen him since he left with Fed over a month ago.

"Giving her the tour? Come through the back, Christina, that's where we're making the real money — pocket anything, you, and you'll pay in more than Galleons!" he added warningly to a small boy who hastily whipped his hand out of the tub labeled edible dark marks — they'll make anyone sick! George pushed back a curtain beside the Muggle tricks and Christina saw a darker, less crowded room. The packaging on the products lining these shelves was more subdued.

"We've just developed this more serious line," said Fred. "Funny how it happened . . ."

"You wouldn't believe how many people, even people who work at the Ministry, can't do a decent Shield Charm," said George. " 'Course, they didn't have you teaching them, Christina."

"That's right. . . . Well, we thought Shield Hats were a bit of a laugh, you know, challenge your mate to jinx you while wearing it and watch his face when the jinx just bounces off. But the Ministry bought five hundred for all its support staff! And we're still getting massive orders!"

"So we've expanded into a range of Shield Cloaks, Shield Gloves . . ."

". . . I mean, they wouldn't help much against the Unforgivable Curses, but for minor to moderate hexes or jinxes . . ."

"And then we thought we'd get into the whole area of Defense Against the Dark Arts, because it's such a money spinner," continued George enthusiastically.

"Oh and look, Instant Darkness Powder, we're importing it from Peru now. You used this in the— "

"Tri-Wizard cup, yeah!" said Christina holding the familiar powder.

"And our Decoy Detonators are just walking off the shelves, look," said Fred, pointing at a number of weird-looking black horn-type objects that were indeed attempting to scurry out of sight. "You just drop one surreptitiously and it'll run off and make a nice loud noise out of sight, giving you a diversion if you need one.

"Ha! Love it," said Christina, impressed.

"Here," said George, catching a couple and throwing them to Christina. A young witch with short blonde hair poked her head around the curtain; Christina saw that she too was wearing magenta staff robes.

"There's a customer out here looking for a joke cauldron, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley," she said. Christina found it very odd to hear Fred and George called "Mr. Weasley," but they took it in their stride.

"Right you are, Verity, I'm coming," said George promptly.

"Verity?" Christina said jealously.

"Christina, you help yourself to anything you want, all right? No charge." Said George before leaving.

"I can't do that!" said Christina, who had already pulled out her money bag to pay for the Decoy Detonators.

"You don't pay here," said Fred firmly, waving away Christina's gold.

"But —"

"You gave us our start-up loan, we haven't forgotten," said George sternly. "Take whatever you like, and just remember to tell people where you got it, if they ask." George swept off through the curtain to help with the customers, and Fred led Christina back into the main part of the shop to find Hermione and Ginny still poring over the Patented Daydream Charms.

"Haven't you girls found our special WonderWitch products yet?" asked Fred. "Follow me, ladies. . . ." Near the window was an array of violently pink products around which a cluster of excited girls was giggling enthusiastically. Hermione and Ginny both hung back, looking wary.

"There you go," said Fred proudly. "Best range of love potions you'll find anywhere." Ginny raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"Do they work?" she asked.

"Certainly they work, look how I got this one." Fred wrapped an arm around Christina kissing the side of her head. Christina pretended to shake her head out of confusion, "Where am I?" she turned to Fred and mock-screamed. They all laughed.

"Well at least for up to twenty-four hours at a time depending on the weight of the boy in question —"

"— and the attractiveness of the girl," said George, reappearing suddenly at their side. "But we're not selling them to our sister," he added, becoming suddenly stern, "not when she's already got about five boys on the go from what we've —"

"Whatever you've heard from Ron is a big fat lie," said Ginny calmly, leaning forward to take a small pink pot off the shelf. "What's this?"

"Guaranteed ten-second pimple vanisher," said Fred. "Excellent on everything from boils to blackheads, but don't change the subject. Are you or are you not currently going out with a boy called Dean Thomas?"

"Yes, I am," said Ginny. "And last time I looked, he was definitely one boy, not five. What are those?" She was pointing at a number of round balls of fluff in shades of pink and purple, all rolling around the bottom of a cage and emitting high-pitched squeaks.

"Pygmy Puffs," said George. "Miniature puffskeins, we can't breed them fast enough. So what about Michael Corner?"

"I dumped him, he was a bad loser," said Ginny, putting a finger through the bars of the cage and watching the Pygmy Puffs crowd around it. "They're really cute!"

"They're fairly cuddly, yes," conceded Fred. "But you're moving through boyfriends a bit fast, aren't you?" Ginny turned to look at him, her hands on her hips. There was such a Mrs. Weasley-ish glare on her face that Christina was surprised Fred didn't recoil.

"It's none of your business. And I'll thank you," she added angrily to Ron, who had just appeared at George's elbow, laden with merchandise, "not to tell tales about me to these two!"

"That's three Galleons, nine Sickles, and a Knut," said Fred, examining the many boxes in Ron's arms. "Cough up."

"I'm your brother!"

"And that's our stuff you're nicking. Three Galleons, nine Sickles. I'll knock off the Knut."

"But I haven't got three Galleons, nine Sickles!"

"You'd better put it back then, and mind you put it on the right shelves." Christina giggled. Ron dropped several boxes, swore, and made a rude hand gesture at Fred that was unfortunately spotted by Mrs. Weasley, who had chosen that moment to appear.

"If I see you do that again I'll jinx your fingers together," she said sharply.

"Mum, can I have a Pygmy Puff?" said Ginny at once.

"A what?" said Mrs. Weasley warily.

"Look, they're so sweet. . . ." Mrs. Weasley moved aside to look at the Pygmy Puffs, and Christina grabbed Fred by the wrist and took him back to the back room without a word.

"Ever had this fantasy?" Christina said slyly as she magicked several boxes off a long table and perched herself there. Fred stood between her legs playing with her hair.

"Only ever since we got the shop." He said moving in closer, checking behind him every few seconds.

"Not with Verity though, right?" Christina asked half-serious. Fred chuckled, "Who?" He kissed her deeply and pushed her back onto the table, now grabbing at her waist and hips. She laid back on the table and Fred jumped on top of her, the table wobbled and Christina let the concrete from the floor wrap itself around the table legs for stability. They furiously pashed, tongues intertwined together, hands roaming and grabbing when the door burst open and in came George Weasley. Fred and Christina looked over, stunned silent to George rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, I guessed as much" and closed the door, leaving them alone again.

"Great brother." Christina mused, smirking.

Knowing how short their time was together and how very close Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were to them, they quickly 'christened' the back room and reentered the chaos inside the front of the shop.

"Where on earth could they possibly be!" Christina heard Mrs. Weasley say to a very troubled looking Hagrid. Christina grimaced to Fred, she knew their absence would be noticed . . . she sighed and walked over to Mrs. Weasley, ready for the lecture.

"There you are! Unbelievable, we've been looking for you for fifteen minutes! And where are the others?" Christina, at first apologetic, looked to Mrs. Weasley confused.

"They're not around?" she asked.

"I've just been searching for the past—RONALD WEASLEY!" Christina spotted Harry, Ron and Hermione looking quite windswept by the frontdoor of the shop looking as guilty as ever. Did they leave?

"Where 'av you lot bin?" Hagrid asked the trio.

"We've been in the backroom!" Ron retorted. Fred nearly choked on his breath, "You've been _where exactly?"_

"The backroom, Fred and George were showing us their stocks . . ." Harry said giving Christina a look that only said _don't-ask._

Mrs. Weasley continued to accuse them but gave up realizing that they were indeed safe. Once she went away to go say goodbye to George Christina interrogating the trio.

"Where were you?!" she said trying to be quiet.

"Malfoy." Harry said resolutely.

"You followed him?"

"He's hiding something at Borgin and Bourkes . . . and mending something." Harry explained, he looked distracted but Christina was more upset that she wasn't invited for the journey.

"I could've went in the shop, been invisible!"

"Oh we were, Harry's got his cloak." Ron said watching his mum from the corner of his eye.

"I keep it with me at all times now, just in case." Said Harry.

"Good idea, Dumbledore gave me permission to use my powers in public for protection too." Said Christina, but it was Hermione whose mouth dropped.

"Professor Dumbledore said that? Well . . . I suppose he wants you to be safe . . ." it seemed Hermione had a much longer speech prepared, however it was cut short when Mrs. Weasley returned, signifying the end of their journey to Diagon Alley.

"I've never had an office quickie before" Fred whispered in Christina's ear as she hugged him goodbye.

"Well you can have a home quickie too if you get back before midnight" she teased back. He mock fanned himself and blew her a kiss.

"Honestly you two." Ginny said, mime-barfing as they left the shop and headed back to the car.


	5. Chapter 5: All Aboard

Christina spent a lot of the last week of the holidays sneaking off to Diagon Alley to see Fred, now that she knew the route it was easy for her to flew there invisible to the human eye. Christina knew her times of visiting Fred would soon be over. He couldn't apparate to Hogwarts and she probably would be too busy to fly hundreds of miles to see him . . .

"You sure I can't just drop out of school and work with you?" Christina asked sadly in the Weasley's garden where Fred and she just apparated. He hugged her, slowly rocking back and forth.

"I'll see you for Christmas and if you ever need me and have hours to fly through England . . . I'll be in Diagon Alley." He said with a laugh.

"I love you so much"

"I love you too." They kissed deeply before Fred, for the last time in a long time, apparated out of the garden. Christina wiper her eyes and sighed heading back toward the Burrow. No one seemed to notice her absence expect for Hermione who very much missed her presence.

"The boys are going to notice, you know."

"Hermione, you'd be shocked to find out how unobservant those two are." And true to that sentiment, neither Harry nor Ron noticed Christina sneaking off. To be fair, Harry was much too obsessed with whatever he, Hermione and Ron saw that day at Diagon Alley which Christina only gathered was nothing but Harry being overly worried.

"Yes, I've already agreed it was fishy, Harry," said Hermione impatiently. Harry was still harping on this notion that Malfoy was up to something truly evil however even Christina wasn't convinced and she loved assuming Malfoy was up to worse than what he was. They were all in Fred and George's room, Hermione on the windowsill with her feet up on one of the cardboard boxes and had only grudgingly looked up from her new copy of Advanced Rune Translation. "But haven't we agreed there could be a lot of explanations?"

"Maybe he's broken his Hand of Glory," said Ron vaguely, as he attempted to straighten his broomstick's bent tail twigs. "Remember that shriveled-up arm Malfoy had?" Christina had no idea what he was talking about but it sounded vaguely sexual so she laughed.

"But what about when he said, 'Don't forget to keep that one safe'?" asked Harry for the umpteenth time. "That sounded to me like Borgin's got another one of the broken objects, and Malfoy wants both."

"You think?" said Christina, organizing her trunk.

"Yeah, I do," said Harry. When neither Christina, Ron nor Hermione answered, he said, "Malfoy's father's in Azkaban. Don't you think Malfoy'd like revenge?" Ron looked up, blinking. Christina laughed.

"Malfoy? Revenge? Never." Christina said sarcastically.

"What can he do about it?" said Ron.

"That's my point, I don't know!" said Harry, frustrated. "But he's up to something and I think we should take it seriously. His father's a Death Eater and —" Harry broke off, his eyes fixed on the window behind Hermione, his mouth open. He looked as though something had just dawned on him.

"Harry?" said Hermione in an anxious voice. "What's wrong?"

"Your scar's not hurting again, is it?" asked Ron nervously. Christina looked at her hand, it was just as pink as it normally was.

"No . . ." said Christina watching Harry suspiciously.

"He's a Death Eater," said Harry slowly. "He's replaced his father as a Death Eater!" There was a silence; then Ron erupted in laughter. "Malfoy? He's in school, Harry! You think You-Know-Who would let Malfoy join?"

"It seems very unlikely, Harry," said Hermione in a repressive sort of voice. Christina also thought it was ridiculous but if anyone would willfully join Voldemort's conquest to kill both herself and Harry it would be Draco Malfoy. Christina tested the waters, "What makes you think — ?"

"In Madam Malkin's. She didn't touch him, but he yelled and jerked his arm away from her when she went to roll up his sleeve. It was his left arm. He's been branded with the Dark Mark." Christina, Ron and Hermione looked at each other.

"Well . . ." said Ron, sounding thoroughly unconvinced.

"I think he just wanted to get out of there, Harry," said Hermione.

"He showed Borgin something we couldn't see," Harry pressed on stubbornly. "Something that seriously scared Borgin. It was the Mark, I know it — he was showing Borgin who he was dealing with, you saw how seriously Borgin took him!"

"Borgin works with so many Death Eaters, why would that scare him? His shop is in Knockturn Alley" Christina asked. Ron and Hermione exchanged another look.

"I'm just not sure, Harry. . . ."

"Yeah, I still don't reckon You-Know-Who would let Malfoy join. . . ." Annoyed, but righteous, Harry snatched up a pile of filthy Quidditch robes and left the room; Mrs. Weasley had been urging them for days not to leave their washing and packing until the last moment. Christina rolled her eyes at his flair for the dramatic and threw a pair of socks at Ron.

"I don't know how these got in with my stuff but these should be burned."

Christina, Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny all had their trunks packed the night before their departure and the following morning went smoother than usual. The Ministry cars glided up to the front of the Burrow to find them waiting, trunks packed; Hermione's cat, Crookshanks, safely enclosed in his traveling basket; Tulip and Hedwig; Ron's owl, Pigwidgeon; and Ginny's new purple Pygmy Puff, Arnold, in cages.

"Au revoir, 'Arry," said Fleur throatily, kissing him good-bye. Ron hurried forward, looking hopeful, but Ginny stuck out her foot and Ron fell, sprawling in the dust at Fleur's feet as Christina struggling to breath through her cackling laughter. Furious, redfaced, and dirt-spattered, he hurried into the car without saying good-bye. There was no cheerful Hagrid waiting for them at King's Cross Station. Instead, two grim-faced, bearded Aurors in dark Muggle suits moved forward the moment the cars stopped and, flanking the party, marched them into the station without speaking.

"Quick, quick, through the barrier," said Mrs. Weasley, who seemed a little flustered by this austere efficiency. "Christina had better go first, with —" She looked inquiringly at one of the Aurors, who nodded briefly, seized Christina's upper arm, and attempted to steer her toward the barrier between platforms nine and ten.

"I can walk, thanks," said Christina irritably, letting her arm dissipate out of the Auror's grip. She pushed her trolley directly at the solid barrier, ignoring her silent companion, and found herself, a second later, standing on platform nine and three-quarters, where the scarlet Hogwarts Express stood belching steam over the crowd. Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys joined her within seconds. Without waiting to consult her grim-faced Auror, Christina motioned to Harry, Ron and Hermione to follow her up the platform, looking for an empty compartment.

"We can't," said Hermione, looking apologetic. "Ron and I've got to go to the prefects' carriage first and then patrol the corridors for a bit."

"Oh yeah, I forgot," said Harry.

"You'd better get straight on the train, all of you, you've only got a few minutes to go," said Mrs. Weasley, consulting her watch. "Well, have a lovely term, Ron. . . ."

"Mr. Weasley, can I have a quick word?" said Harry, Christina frowned, assuming he'd tell Mr. Weasley his cockamamie story about Draco Malfoy.

"Of course," said Mr. Weasley, who looked slightly surprised, but followed Harry out of earshot of the others nevertheless. Mrs. Weasley finished saying goodbye to her children when she landed on Christina.

"Bye Mrs. Weasley! I'm sure I'll see you for Christmas." Christina said as Mrs. Weasley hugged her goodbye.

"I can't imagine a Christmas without you there sweetheart" said Mrs. Weasley. Christina smiled, nearly tearful, and entered the train. Christina waited for Harry by the door but realized very quickly how much this put her in the spotlight. People stared shamelessly as she waited. People even pressed their faces against the windows of their compartments to get a look at her. She had expected an upswing in the amount of gaping and gawping she would have to endure this term after all the "Chosen One" rumors in the Daily Prophet, but she did not enjoy the sensation of standing in a very bright spotlight.

There was a whistle behind them; nearly everyone had boarded the train and the doors were closing, Christina stuck her head out the train to see Harry hugging Mrs. Weasley.

"Harry, come on!" she called out to him. He jumped onto the steps and he and Christina waved goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

"What'd you want to talk to Mr. Weasley about?" although Christina definitely already knew. Harry looked down the corridor of the train as it started to pick up speed.

"Not here, let's try to find a compartment." Christina and Harry trudged along the corridor and noticed Ginny a little way down, chatting to some friends. They made their way toward her, dragging their trunks. Harry tapped Ginny on the shoulder.

"Fancy trying to find a compartment?"

"I can't guys, I said I'd meet Dean," said Ginny brightly. "See you later."

"Right," said Christina. She felt a strange twinge of annoyance as Ginny walked away, her long red hair dancing behind her.

"I forget that we don't hang out with Ginny that much at school . . ." Christina said sadly.

"I know, I'm so used to having her around." said Harry.

"Hey, Harry! Christina!" said a familiar voice from behind them.

"Neville!" said Harry, turning to see a round-faced boy struggling toward them.

"Hello," said a girl with long hair and large misty eyes, who was just behind Neville.

"Luna, hi, how are you?" said Christina.

"Very well, thank you," said Luna. She was clutching a magazine to her chest; large letters on the front announced that there was a pair of free Spectrespecs inside.

"Quibbler still going strong, then?" asked Harry.

"Oh yes, circulation's well up," said Luna happily.

"Let's find seats," said Harry, and the four of them set off along the train through hordes of silently staring students. At last they found an empty compartment, and Christina and Harry hurried inside gratefully.

"They're even staring at us!" said Neville, indicating himself and Luna. "Because we're with you!"

"They're staring at you because you were at the Ministry too," said Christina, as she levitated her trunk into the luggage rack.

"Our little adventure there was all over the Daily Prophet, you must've seen it." Harry agreed.

"Yes, I thought Gran would be angry about all the publicity," said Neville, "but she was really pleased. Says I'm starting to live up to my dad at long last. She bought me a new wand, look!" He pulled it out and showed it to Christina and Harry.

"Cherry and unicorn hair," he said proudly. "We think it was one of the last Ollivander ever sold, he vanished next day — oi, come back here, Trevor!" And he dived under the seat to retrieve his toad as it made one of its frequent bids for freedom.

"Are we still doing D.A. meetings this year?" asked Luna, who was detaching a pair of psychedelic spectacles from the middle of The Quibbler.

"No point now we've got rid of Umbridge, is there?" said Harry, sitting down. Neville bumped his head against the seat as he emerged from under it. He looked most disappointed.

"I liked the D.A.! I learned loads with you two!"

"I enjoyed the meetings too," said Luna serenely. "It was like having friends." This was one of those uncomfortable things Luna often said and which made Christina feel a squirming mixture of pity and embarrassment. Before she could respond, however, there was a disturbance outside their compartment door; a group of fourth-year girls was whispering and giggling together on the other side of the glass.

"You ask him!"

"No, you!"

"I'll do it!" And one of them, a bold-looking girl with large dark eyes, a prominent chin, and long black hair pushed her way through the door.

"Hi, Harry, I'm Romilda, Romilda Vane," she said loudly and confidently.

"Why don't you join us in our compartment? You don't have to sit with them," she added in a stage whisper, indicating Neville's bottom, which was sticking out from under the seat again as he groped around for Trevor, and Luna, who was now wearing her free Spectrespecs, which gave her the look of a demented, multicolored owl.

"They're friends of mine," said Harry coldly.

"Oh," said the girl, looking very surprised. "Oh. Okay." And she withdrew, sliding the door closed behind her.

"People expect you to have cooler friends than us," said Luna, once again displaying her knack for embarrassing honesty. Christina was offended, she didn't consider herself popular but she definitely considered herself cooler than Neville and Luna . . . Christina immediately regretted the thought, maybe she should've been in Slytherin . . .

"You are cool," said Harry shortly. "None of them was at the Ministry. They didn't fight with me."

"That's a very nice thing to say," beamed Luna. Then she pushed her Spectrespecs farther up her nose and settled down to read The Quibbler.

"We didn't face him, though," said Neville, emerging from under the seat with fluff and dust in his hair and a resigned-looking Trevor in his hand.

"Well neither did I, really." said Harry quietly. Everyone turned to Christina and she just crossed her legs and looked out the window. Neville continued on,

"You should hear my gran talk about you. 'That Christina Bataskill's got more backbone than the whole Ministry of Magic put together!' She'd give anything to have you as a granddaughter. . . ." Christina laughed uncomfortably and changed the subject to O.W.L. results as soon as she could. While Neville recited his grades and wondered aloud whether he would be allowed to take a Transfiguration N.E.W.T. with only an "Acceptable," Christina watched him without really listening. Neville's childhood had been blighted by Voldemort just as much as Christina's had, but Neville had no idea how close he had come to having Christina and Harry's destiny. The prophecy could have referred to either of them, yet, for her own inscrutable reasons, Voldemort had chosen to believe that Harry was the one meant. Had Voldemort chosen Neville, it would be Neville sitting opposite Christina bearing the lightning-shaped scar and the weight of the prophecy. . . . Or would it? Would Neville's mother have died to save him, as Lily had died for Harry? Surely she would. . . . But what if she had been unable to stand between her son and Voldemort? Would there then have been no "Chosen One" at all? An empty seat where Neville now sat and a scarless Harry who would have been kissed good-bye by his own mother, not Ron's?

"You all right, Christina? You look funny," said Neville. Christina started. "Sorry — I —"

"Wrackspurt got you?" asked Luna sympathetically, peering at Christina through her enormous colored spectacles.

"I — what?"

"A Wrackspurt . . . They're invisible. They float in through your ears and make your brain go fuzzy," she said. "I thought I felt one zooming around in here." She flapped her hands at thin air, as though beating off large invisible moths. Christina and Harry caught each other's eyes and hastily began to talk of Quidditch.

The weather beyond the train windows was as patchy as it had been all summer; they passed through stretches of the chilling mist, then out into weak, clear sunlight. It was during one of the clear spells, when the sun was visible almost directly overhead, that Ron and Hermione entered the compartment at last.

"Wish the lunch trolley would hurry up, I'm starving," said Ron longingly, slumping into the seat beside Harry and rubbing his stomach.

"Hi, Neville. Hi, Luna. Guess what?" he added, turning to Harry. "Malfoy's not doing prefect duty. He's just sitting in his compartment with the other Slytherins, we saw him when we passed." Christina sat up straight, interested. It was not like Malfoy to pass up the chance to demonstrate his power as prefect, which he had happily abused all the previous year.

"What did he do when he saw you?" she asked.

"The usual," said Ron indifferently, demonstrating a rude hand gesture. "Not like him, though, is it? Well — that is" — he did the hand gesture again — "but why isn't he out there bullying first years?"

"Dunno," said Harry, but Christina was sure he was formulating several incorrect theories.

"Maybe he preferred the Inquisitorial Squad," said Hermione. "Maybe being a prefect seems a bit tame after that."

"I don't think so," said Harry. "I think he's —" But before he could expound on his theory, the compartment door slid open again and a breathless third-year girl stepped inside.

"I'm supposed to deliver these to Neville Longbottom, Christina Bataskill and Harry P-Potter," she faltered, as her eyes met Harry's and she turned scarlet. She was holding out three scrolls of parchment tied with violet ribbon. Perplexed, Christina, Harry and Neville took the scroll addressed to each of them and the girl stumbled back out of the compartment.

"What is it?" Ron demanded, as Christina unrolled hers.

"An invitation," said Christina.

Christina,

I would be delighted if you would join me for a bite of lunch in compartment C.

Sincerely,

Professor H. E. F. Slughorn

"Who's Professor Slughorn?" asked Neville, looking perplexedly at his own invitation.

"New teacher," said Harry.

"Well, I suppose we'll have to go, won't we?"

"But what does he want me for?" asked Neville nervously, as though he was expecting detention.

"No idea," said Christina, which was not entirely true, though she had no proof yet that her hunch was correct.

"Listen," Harry added, seized by a sudden brain wave, "let's go under the Invisibility Cloak, then we might get a good look at Malfoy on the way, see what he's up to." This idea, however, came to nothing: The corridors, which were packed with people on the lookout for the lunch trolley, were impossible to negotiate while wearing the cloak. Harry stowed it regretfully back in his bag, Christina sad that it would have been nice to wear it just to avoid all the staring, which seemed to have increased in intensity even since she had last walked down the train.

Every now and then, students would hurtle out of their compartments to get a better look at them. The exception was Cho Chang, who darted into her compartment when she saw Harry coming. As Christina passed the window, she saw Cho deep in determined conversation with her friend Marietta, who was wearing a very thick layer of makeup that did not entirely obscure the odd formation of pimples still etched across her face. Smirking slightly, Christina pushed on.

When they reached compartment C, they saw at once that they were not Slughorn's only invitees, although judging by the enthusiasm of Slughorn's welcome, Christina and Harry were the most warmly anticipated.

"Harry, m'boy! Christina, always a pleasure!" said Slughorn, jumping up at the sight of them so that his great velvet-covered belly seemed to fill all the remaining space in the compartment. His shiny bald head and great silvery mustache gleamed as brightly in the sunlight as the golden buttons on his waistcoat.

"Good to see you, good to see you! And you must be Mr. Longbottom!" Neville nodded, looking scared. At a gesture from Slughorn, they sat down opposite each other in the only three empty seats, which were nearest the door. Christina glanced around at their fellow guests. She recognized a Slytherin from their year, a tall black boy with high cheekbones and long, slanting eyes; there were also two seventh-year boys Christina did not know and, squashed in the corner beside Slughorn and looking as though she was not entirely sure how she had got there, Ginny.

"Now, do you know everyone?" Slughorn asked Christina, Harry and Neville. "Blaise Zabini is in your year, of course —" Zabini did not make any sign of recognition or greeting, nor did Christina, Harry or Neville: Gryffindor and Slytherin students loathed each other on principle.

"This is Cormac McLaggen, perhaps you've come across each other — ? No?" McLaggen, a large, wiry-haired youth, raised a hand, and Christina, Harry and Neville nodded back at him. "— and this is Marcus Belby, I don't know whether — ?" Belby, who was thin and nervous-looking, gave a strained smile.

"— and this charming young lady tells me she knows you!" Slughorn finished. Ginny grimaced at Christina, Harry and Neville from behind Slughorn's back.

"Well now, this is most pleasant," said Slughorn cozily. "A chance to get to know you all a little better. Here, take a napkin. I've packed my own lunch; the trolley, as I remember it, is heavy on licorice wands, and a poor old man's digestive system isn't quite up to such things. . . . Pheasant, Belby?" Belby started and accepted what looked like half a cold pheasant.

"I was just telling young Marcus here that I had the pleasure of teaching his Uncle Damocles," Slughorn told Christina, Harry and Neville, now passing around a basket of rolls. "Outstanding wizard, outstanding, and his Order of Merlin most well-deserved. Do you see much of your uncle, Marcus?" Unfortunately, Belby had just taken a large mouthful of pheasant; in his haste to answer Slughorn he swallowed too fast, turned purple, and began to choke.

"Anapneo," said Slughorn calmly, pointing his wand at Belby, whose airway seemed to clear at once.

"Not . . . not much of him, no," gasped Belby, his eyes streaming.

"Well, of course, I daresay he's busy," said Slughorn, looking questioningly at Belby. "I doubt he invented the Wolfsbane Potion without considerable hard work!"

"I suppose . . ." said Belby, who seemed afraid to take another bite of pheasant until he was sure that Slughorn had finished with him. "Er . . . he and my dad don't get on very well, you see, so I don't really know much about . . ." His voice tailed away as Slughorn gave him a cold smile and turned to McLaggen instead.

"Now, you, Cormac," said Slughorn, "I happen to know you see a lot of your Uncle Tiberius, because he has a rather splendid picture of the two of you hunting nogtails in, I think, Norfolk?"

"Oh, yeah, that was fun, that was," said McLaggen. "We went with Bertie Higgs and Rufus Scrimgeour — this was before he became Minister, obviously —"

"Ah, you know Bertie and Rufus too?" beamed Slughorn, now offering around a small tray of pies; somehow, Belby was missed out. "Now tell me . . ." It was as Christina had suspected. Everyone here seemed to have been invited because they were connected to somebody well-known or influential — everyone except Ginny. Zabini, who was interrogated after McLaggen, turned out to have a famously beautiful witch for a mother (from what Christina could make out, she had been married seven times, each of her husbands dying mysteriously and leaving her mounds of gold). It was Neville's turn next: This was a very uncomfortable ten minutes, for Neville's parents, well-known Aurors, had been tortured into insanity by Bellatrix Lestrange and a couple of Death Eater cronies. At the end of Neville's interview, Harry had the impression that Slughorn was reserving judgment on Neville, yet to see whether he had any of his parents' flair. Harry's interview was exactly what was to be expected, a whole speech on Lord Voldemort's power, that Harry and Christina were 'Chosen Ones' and how his mother looked like him and how similar he was to his dad.

"And now," said Slughorn, shifting massively in his seat with the air of a compere introducing his star act. "Christina Bataskill! Where to begin? I feel I barely scratched the surface when we met over the summer!" He contemplated Christina for a moment as though she was a particularly large and succulent piece of pheasant, then said, "Winner of the Tri-Wizard cup at only twenty years of age . . . Natural abilities which haven't been seen for decades . . . and the only witch to stand up to fight You-Know-Who!" Christina said nothing. Belby, McLaggen, and Zabini were all staring at her.

"Of course," said Slughorn, watching Christina closely, "there have been rumors for years. . . . I remember when — well — after that terrible night — Lily — James — and you survived — and the word was that you must have powers beyond the ordinary —" Zabini gave a tiny little cough that was clearly supposed to indicate amused skepticism. An angry voice burst out from behind Slughorn.

"Yeah, Zabini, because you're so talented . . . at posing. . . ."

"Oh dear!" chuckled Slughorn comfortably, looking around at Ginny, who was glaring at Zabini around Slughorn's great belly. "You want to be careful, Blaise! I saw this young lady perform the most marvelous Bat-Bogey Hex as I was passing her carriage! I wouldn't cross her!" Zabini merely looked contemptuous.

"Anyway," said Slughorn, turning back to Christina. "Such rumors this summer. Of course, one doesn't know what to believe, the Prophet has been known to print inaccuracies, make mistakes — but there seems little doubt, given the number of witnesses, that there was quite a disturbance at the Ministry and that you were there in the thick of it all!" Christina, who could not see any way out of this without flatly lying, nodded but still said nothing. Slughorn beamed at her.

"So modest, so modest, no wonder Dumbledore is so fond — you were there, then? But the rest of the stories — so sensational, of course, one doesn't know quite what to believe — this fabled prophecy, for instance —"

"We never heard a prophecy," said Neville, turning geranium pink as he said it.

"That's right," said Ginny staunchly. "Neville and I were both there too, and all this 'Chosen One' rubbish is just the Prophet making things up as usual."

"You were both there too, were you?" said Slughorn with great interest, looking from Ginny to Neville, but both of them sat clamlike before his encouraging smile.

"Yes . . . well . . . it is true that the Prophet often exaggerates, of course. . . ." Slughorn said, sounding a little disappointed. "I remember dear Gwenog telling me (Gwenog Jones, I mean, of course, Captain of the Holyhead Harpies) —" He meandered off into a long-winded reminiscence, but Christina had the distinct impression that Slughorn had not finished with her, and that he had not been convinced by Neville and Ginny. The afternoon wore on with more anecdotes about illustrious wizards Slughorn had taught, all of whom had been delighted to join what he called the "Slug Club" at Hogwarts. Christina could not wait to leave, but couldn't see how to do so politely. Finally, the train emerged from yet another long misty stretch into a red sunset, and Slughorn looked around, blinking in the twilight.

"Good gracious, it's getting dark already! I didn't notice that they'd lit the lamps! You'd better go and change into your robes, all of you. McLaggen, you must drop by and borrow that book on nogtails. Christina, Harry, Blaise — any time you're passing. Same goes for you, miss," he twinkled at Ginny. "Well, off you go, off you go!" As he pushed past Christina into the darkening corridor, Zabini shot him a filthy look that Christina returned with interest. She, Harry, Ginny, and Neville followed Zabini back along the train.

"I'm glad that's over," muttered Neville. "Strange man, isn't he?"

"Yeah, he is a bit," said Harry, Christina's eyes still on Zabini. "How come you ended up in there, Ginny?"

"He saw me hex Zacharias Smith," said Ginny. "You remember that idiot from Hufflepuff who was in the D.A.? He kept on and on asking about what happened at the Ministry and in the end he annoyed me so much I hexed him — when Slughorn came in I thought I was going to get detention, but he just thought it was a really good hex and invited me to lunch! Mad, eh?"

"Better reason for inviting someone than because their mother's famous," said Harry, "or because their uncle —" But he broke off.

"I'll see you guys later," said Harry under his breath, pulling out his Invisibility Cloak and flinging it over himself.

"But what're you — ?" asked Neville.

"Later!" whispered Harry, but Christina wasn't going to miss another Malfoy encounter (or that's what she assumed he as off to). She turned to dust and reassembled herself under Harry's cloak.

"Nice try." She whispered next to him. Harry jumped but just sighed, deciding not to fight her on this. They began darting after Zabini as quietly as possible, though the rattling of the train made such caution almost pointless. The corridors were almost completely empty now. Nearly everyone had returned to their carriages to change into their school robes and pack up their possessions. Though they were as close as they could get to Zabini without touching him, Christina and Harry weren't quick enough to slip into the compartment when Zabini opened the door. Zabini was already sliding it shut when Harry hastily stuck out his foot to prevent it closing.

"What's wrong with this thing?" said Zabini angrily as he smashed the sliding door repeatedly into Harry's foot. Christina rolled her eyes and disassembled both herself and Harry under Blaise's legs and up onto the luggage rack. Before reassembled both of them she grabbed the invisibility cloak from in front of the door and laid it upon herself and Harry as best she could.

Zabini collapsed into his own seat looking ruffled, Vincent Crabbe returned to his comic, and Malfoy, sniggering, lay back down across two seats with his head in Pansy Parkinson's lap. Christina and Harry lay curled uncomfortably close to one another under the cloak to ensure that every inch of them remained hidden, and watched Pansy stroke the sleek blond hair off Malfoy's forehead, smirking as she did so, as though anyone would have loved to have been in her place. The lanterns swinging from the carriage ceiling cast a bright light over the scene: Christina could read every word of Crabbe's comic directly below her.

"So, Zabini," said Malfoy, "what did Slughorn want?"

"Just trying to make up to well-connected people," said Zabini, who was still glowering at Goyle. "Not that he managed to find many." This information did not seem to please Malfoy.

"Who else had he invited?" he demanded.

"McLaggen from Gryffindor," said Zabini.

"Oh yeah, his uncle's big in the Ministry," said Malfoy. "— someone else called Belby, from Ravenclaw —"

"Not him, he's a prat!" said Pansy. "— and Longbottom, Potter, Bataskill and that Weasley girl," finished Zabini. Malfoy sat up very suddenly, knocking Pansy's hand aside.

"He invited Longbottom?"

"Well, I assume so, as Longbottom was there," said Zabini indifferently.

"What's Longbottom got to interest Slughorn?" Zabini shrugged.

"Potter, precious Potter, and that bitch—obviously he wanted a look at 'the Chosen Ones,' " sneered Malfoy, "but that Weasley girl! What's so special about her?"

"A lot of boys like her," said Pansy, watching Malfoy out of the corner of her eyes for his reaction. "Even you think she's goodlooking, don't you, Blaise, and we all know how hard you are to please!"

"I wouldn't touch a filthy little blood traitor like her whatever she looked like," said Zabini coldly, and Pansy looked pleased. Christina resisted the urge to throw a rock at the back of his head. Malfoy sank back across her lap and allowed her to resume the stroking of his hair.

"Well, I pity Slughorn's taste. Maybe he's going a bit senile. Shame, my father always said he was a good wizard in his day. My father used to be a bit of a favorite of his. Slughorn probably hasn't heard I'm on the train, or —"

"I wouldn't bank on an invitation," said Zabini. "He asked me about Nott's father when I first arrived. They used to be old friends, apparently, but when he heard he'd been caught at the Ministry he didn't look happy, and Nott didn't get an invitation, did he? I don't think Slughorn's interested in Death Eaters." Malfoy looked angry, but forced out a singularly humorless laugh.

"Well, who cares what he's interested in? What is he, when you come down to it? Just some stupid teacher." Malfoy yawned ostentatiously. "I mean, I might not even be at Hogwarts next year, what's it matter to me if some fat old has-been likes me or not?"

"What do you mean, you might not be at Hogwarts next year?" said Pansy indignantly, ceasing grooming Malfoy at once.

"Well, you never know," said Malfoy with the ghost of a smirk. "I might have — er — moved on to bigger and better things." Crouched in the luggage rack under Harry's cloak, Christina's heart began to race. There's no way Harry could be right . . . What would Ron and Hermione say about this?

Crabbe and Goyle were gawping at Malfoy; apparently they had had no inkling of any plans to move on to bigger and better things. Even Zabini had allowed a look of curiosity to mar his haughty features. Pansy resumed the slow stroking of Malfoy's hair, looking dumbfounded.

"Do you mean — Him?" Malfoy shrugged.

"Mother wants me to complete my education, but personally, I don't see it as that important these days. I mean, think about it. . . . When the Dark Lord takes over, is he going to care how many O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s anyone's got? Of course he isn't. . . . It'll be all about the kind of service he received, the level of devotion he was shown."

"And you think you'll be able to do something for him?" asked Zabini scathingly. "Twenty-two years old and not even fully qualified yet?"

"I've just said, haven't I? Maybe he doesn't care if I'm qualified. Maybe the job he wants me to do isn't something that you need to be qualified for," said Malfoy quietly. Crabbe and Goyle were both sitting with their mouths open like gargoyles. Pansy was gazing down at Malfoy as though she had never seen anything so awe-inspiring.

"I can see Hogwarts," said Malfoy, clearly relishing the effect he had created as he pointed out of the blackened window. "We'd better get our robes on." Christina was so busy staring at Malfoy, she did not have time to turn both herself and Harry into dust, only herself, as Goyle reached up for his trunk; as he swung it down, it hit Harry hard on the side of the head. He let out an involuntary gasp of pain, and Malfoy looked up at the luggage rack, frowning. Christina, only a pile of dirt in the corner of the rack started to get nervous. She was not afraid of Malfoy, but she still did not much like the idea of Harry being discovered hiding under his Invisibility Cloak by a group of unfriendly Slytherins.

To her relief, Malfoy seemed to decide that he had imagined the noise; he pulled on his robes like the others, locked his trunk, and as the train slowed to a jerky crawl, fastened a thick new traveling cloak round his neck. Christina could see the corridors filling up again and hoped that Hermione and Ron would take her and Harry's things out onto the platform for them; Christina was perfectly able to leave but she didn't want to leave Harry alone with a potential Death Eater.

At last, with a final lurch, the train came to a complete halt. Goyle threw the door open and muscled his way out into a crowd of second years, punching them aside; Crabbe and Zabini followed and Christina flew under the door and reassembled herself outside the door, she didn't want to be stepped on when the boys left the compartment. Christina watched Pansy walk out and waited for Malfoy but he seemed to be taking his sweet time in the compartment.

"Christina! My girl, what're you doing over here?" it was Professor Slughorn again, Christina stammered, normally a good liar but she was half concerned as to why Malfoy was still in the compartment.

"Oh—er, looking for my friends . . . they're prefects, you see so they check . . . all the compartments." Slughorn was clearly not buying it and opened his mouth for a rebuttle but Christina stopped him.

"Professor, have you seen what I can do with my hand?" Christina then changed the arrangement of her hand so that the particles flowed in waves. Slughorn's mouth dropped even further as he gave an excited laugh.

"Ho, my dear! What a mighty talent indeed, you must tell me exactly when you learned how to do this!" he said practically drooling over her hand changing form. The compartment door next to Christina opened and Christina returned her hand back to normal. Out came Draco Malfoy glaring directly at Christina.

"Can I help you?" Malfoy said nastily to Christina.

"You two should head out onto the platform before the train leaves." Said Professor Slughorn pushing both Christina and Draco down the hall. They glared at each other while Slughorn ushered them off the train.


	6. Chapter 6: Blonde and Demented

Christina and Draco got off the train and right when Slughorn left their company, "I'll see you both in the castle!" Christina quickly turned around to head back on the train only to meet a much taller, larger, Draco Malfoy.

"You heard Slughorn, back to the castle Bataskill. Or are you waiting for your escorts?" he said menacingly. Christina was trying to read Malfoy's face; did he discover Harry? Christina always considered Malfoy a bumbling idiot but he always seemed to face-off with Christina and Harry . . .

"I forgot my . . . I don't have to explain myself to you." Christina again moved toward the door of the train but Draco again stepped in front of her.

"What're you going to do, find something to threaten me with? Everyone around you already thinks you're a freak, go ahead, prove them right." He was hitting a nerve and Christina readily would have lifted a piece of concrete from the ground to threaten him with but he was right, people were already scared of her and there were many people on the platform, including teachers. She didn't respond and Malfoy smirked. He pushed her back toward the carriages and walked one step behind her. Why was he making sure she didn't go back on the train? Surely he couldn't have found Harry . . . Malfoy would definitely take any opportunity to be an arse to Christina but he seemed to be going out of his way . . . however Christina did threaten him in front of his mother so maybe he was planning on doing something to her that involved him being very close to her on the carriages.

Christina attempted to find anyone she knew but herself and Draco seemed to be the last two students to get on the carriages, they hopped onto one with four other students she didn't recognize but she knew recognized her. A boy and girl sitting next to each other starting whispering the second Christina sat down. She wondered where Ron and Hermione were . . .

"Have a good summer, Mr. Malfoy?" Christina asked ironically. He rolled his eyes and the carriages started moving. Christina instinctively looked back to the train which was now starting to move. Her dread began to rise.

"Great actually, have a lot to look forward to this year." He taunted. Christina didn't care, however she was intently watching the train when she saw what seemed to be two blurry figures jumping off the moving train. It had to be Harry. She whipped around to Malfoy who was smirking yet again, eyebrow perched. Christina was fuming, but couldn't say anything without raising alarm to the carriage and sat stewing in her seat.

"Oh did I forget to mention that?" Draco laughed. Christina glared at him imagining her fist going through his skull.

The ride back to Hogwarts was longer than usual, more security around the gate checking every carriage, checking off names and going through student's robes.

They reached the castle steps at last and as the great oaken front doors swung open into the vast flagged entrance hall, a burst of talk and laughter and of tinkling plates and glasses greeted them through the doors standing open into the Great Hall. The Great Hall, with its four long House tables and its staff table set at the top of the room, was decorated as usual with floating candles that made the plates below glitter and glow. Christina couldn't get out of Malfoy's presence quick enough. She darted to the Gryffindor table and found Ron and Hermione just sitting down.

"Hey. Loads to tell you, Harry and I went to the Slug Club where Slughorn just bragged about people he knows for hours and then Harry followed Malfoy to his compartment where I then followed him and I think Malfoy found out because," Christina gestured around the hall, "he's not here."

"What?!" both Ron and Hermione said together.

"Where do you think he could be?" said Hermione getting increasingly worried.

"Did you find out anything about that git?" said Ron.

"Ron!" Hermione hit him on the shoulder and rolled her eyes. Christina kept looking back and forth between Ron and Hermione and the main doors. Ginny and Dean sat down and said hello along with Neville and Seamus.

"I think I saw him jump off the train just as it started moving but he was with someone else . . . if it even was him. I would've ran back to get him but Malfoy wouldn't let me out of his sight- "Christina said quieter to just Ron and Hermione.

"Well, couldn't you just, I don't know, knocked him unconscious with a rock or something?" said Ron. Christina laughed.

"Not quite." After a few minutes and still no Harry, Christina helped herself to some food. The sorting and opening speech were both filled with security warnings and obvious stares Christina's way. Christina looked up to the staff table and was surprised to see the Divination teacher, Professor Trelawney, sitting on Hagrid's other side; she rarely left her tower room, and Christina had never seen her at the start-of-term feast before. She looked as odd as ever, glittering with beads and trailing shawls, her eyes magnified to enormous size by her spectacles. Having always considered her a bit of a fraud, Christina had been shocked to discover at the end of the previous term that it had been she who had made the prediction that caused Lord Voldemort to kill Harry's parents and attack Christina and Harry. The knowledge had made her even less eager to find herself in Trelawney's company, but thankfully, this year she would be dropping Divination. Her great beaconlike eyes swiveled in her direction; Christina hastily looked away toward the Slytherin table. Draco Malfoy was miming the shattering of a nose to raucous laughter and applause. Unfortunately for Harry, Christina could overhear Malfoy telling everyone who would listen about what he'd done to Harry on the train. From what Christina gathered, he kicked him in the face and attempted to leave him on the train to go back to London.

"Did you hear that?" Christina asked Ron and Hermione who were now equally worried.

"No—" but before Hermione could finish her sentence the Great Hall doors opened and in rushed a bloodstained Harry Potter who forced his way in between Christina and Hermione to sit down.

"Where've you — blimey, what've you done to your face?" said Ron, goggling at him along with everyone else in the vicinity.

"Why, what's wrong with it?" said Harry, grabbing a spoon and squinting at his distorted reflection.

"You're covered in blood!" said Hermione. "Come here —" She raised her wand, said "Tergeo!" and siphoned off the dried blood.

"Thanks," said Harry, feeling his now clean face. "How's my nose looking?"

"Normal," said Christina anxiously.

"Why shouldn't it? Harry, what happened? We've been terrified!" said Hermione.

"I'll tell you later," said Harry curtly.

"But —" said Hermione.

"Not now, Hermione," said Harry, in a darkly significant voice.

"You missed the Sorting, anyway," said Hermione, as Ron dived for a large chocolate gateau.

"Hat say anything interesting?" asked Harry, taking a piece of treacle tart.

"More of the same, really . . . advising us all to unite in the face of our enemies, you know."

"Dumbledore mentioned Voldemort at all?"

"Not yet, but he always saves his proper speech for after the feast, doesn't he? It can't be long now."

"Snape said Hagrid was late for the feast —"

"You've seen Snape? How come?" said Ron between frenzied mouthfuls of gateau.

"Bumped into him," said Harry evasively.

"Hagrid was only a few minutes late," said Hermione. "Look, he's waving at you, Harry." Hagrid had never quite managed to comport himself with the dignity of Professor McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House, the top of whose head came up to somewhere between Hagrid's elbow and shoulder as they were sitting side by side, and who was looking disapprovingly at this enthusiastic greeting.

"So what did Professor Slughorn want?" Hermione asked.

"To know what really happened at the Ministry," said Harry.

"Him and everyone else here," sniffed Hermione. "People were interrogating us about it on the train, weren't they, Ron?"

"Yeah," said Ron. "All wanting to know if you were really 'the Chosen Ones' —"

"There has been much talk on that very subject even amongst the ghosts," interrupted Nearly Headless Nick, inclining his barely connected head toward Harry so that it wobbled dangerously on its ruff.

"I am considered something of a Potter authority; it is widely known that we are friendly. I have assured the spirit community that I will not pester you for information, however. 'Harry Potter knows that he can confide in me with complete confidence,' I told them. 'I would rather die than betray his trust.' "

"That's not saying much, seeing as you're already dead," Ron observed.

"Once again, you show all the sensitivity of a blunt axe," said Nearly Headless Nick in affronted tones, and he rose into the air and glided back toward the far end of the Gryffindor table just as Dumbledore got to his feet at the staff table. The talk and laughter echoing around the Hall died away almost instantly.

"The very best of evenings to you!" he said, smiling broadly, his arms opened wide as though to embrace the whole room.

"What happened to his hand?" gasped Hermione. She was not the only one who had noticed. Dumbledore's right hand was as blackened and dead-looking as it had been on the night he had come to fetch Christina from the Burrow. Whispers swept the room; Dumbledore, interpreting them correctly, merely smiled and shook his purple-and-gold sleeve over his injury.

"Nothing to worry about," he said airily. "Now . . . to our new students, welcome, to our old students, welcome back! Another year full of magical education awaits you . . ."

"His hand was like that when I saw him over the summer," Harry whispered to Hermione. "I thought he'd have cured it by now, though . . . or Madam Pomfrey would've done."

"It looks as if it's died," said Hermione, with a nauseated expression. "But there are some injuries you can't cure . . . old curses . . . and there are poisons without antidotes. . . ."

". . . and Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to say that there is a blanket ban on any joke items bought at the shop called Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Those wishing to play for their House Quidditch teams should give their names to their Heads of House as usual. We are also looking for new Quidditch commentators, who should do likewise.

"We are pleased to welcome a new member of staff this year. Professor Slughorn" — Slughorn stood up, his bald head gleaming in the candlelight, his big waistcoated belly casting the table below into shadow — "is a former colleague of mine who has agreed to resume his old post of Potions master."

"Potions?"

"Potions?" The word echoed all over the Hall as people wondered whether they had heard right.

"Potions?" said Ron and Hermione together, turning to stare at Christina and Harry. "But you said —"

"Professor Snape, meanwhile," said Dumbledore, raising his voice so that it carried over all the muttering, "will be taking over the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"No!" said Harry, so loudly that many heads turned in his direction. Christina did not care; she was staring up at the staff table, incensed. How could Snape be given the Defense Against the Dark Arts job after all this time? Hadn't it been widely known for years that Dumbledore did not trust him to do it?

"But, you two said that Slughorn was going to be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts!" said Hermione.

"I thought he was!" said Christina, racking her brains to remember when Dumbledore had told her this, but now that she came to think of it, she was unable to recall Dumbledore ever telling her what Slughorn would be teaching. Snape, who was sitting on Dumbledore's right, did not stand up at the mention of his name; he merely raised a hand in lazy acknowledgment of the applause from the Slytherin table, yet Christina was sure she could detect a look of triumph on the features she loathed so much.

"Well, there's one good thing," Harry said savagely. "Snape'll be gone by the end of the year."

"What do you mean?" asked Ron.

"That job's jinxed. No one's lasted more than a year. . . . Quirrell actually died doing it. . . . Personally, I'm going to keep my fingers crossed for another death. . . ."

"Harry!" said Hermione, shocked and reproachful.

"He might just go back to teaching Potions at the end of the year," said Ron reasonably. "That Slughorn bloke might not want to stay long-term. Moody didn't." Dumbledore cleared his throat. Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were not the only ones who had been talking; the whole Hall had erupted in a buzz of conversation at the news that Snape had finally achieved his heart's desire. Seemingly oblivious to the sensational nature of the news he had just imparted, Dumbledore said nothing more about staff appointments, but waited a few seconds to ensure that the silence was absolute before continuing.

"Now, as everybody in this Hall knows, Lord Voldemort and his followers are once more at large and gaining in strength." The silence seemed to tauten and strain as Dumbledore spoke. Christina glanced at Malfoy. Malfoy was not looking at Dumbledore, but making his fork hover in midair with his wand, as though he found the headmaster's words unworthy of his attention.

"I cannot emphasize strongly enough how dangerous the present situation is, and how much care each of us at Hogwarts must take to ensure that we remain safe. The castle's magical fortifications have been strengthened over the summer, we are protected in new and more powerful ways, but we must still guard scrupulously against carelessness on the part of any student or member of staff. I urge you, therefore, to abide by any security restrictions that your teachers might impose upon you, however irksome you might find them — in particular, the rule that you are not to be out of bed after hours. I implore you, should you notice anything strange or suspicious within or outside the castle, to report it to a member of staff immediately. I trust you to conduct yourselves, always, with the utmost regard for your own and others' safety." Dumbledore's blue eyes swept over the students before he smiled once more.

"But now, your beds await, as warm and comfortable as you could possibly wish, and I know that your top priority is to be well-rested for your lessons tomorrow. Let us therefore say good night. Pip pip!" With the usual deafening scraping noise, the benches were moved back and the hundreds of students began to file out of the Great Hall toward their dormitories. Christina, who was in no hurry at all to leave with the gawping crowd, lagged behind and noticed Harry doing the same, pretending to retie the lace on his trainer, allowing most of the Gryffindors to draw ahead of them. Hermione had darted ahead to fulfill her prefect's duty of shepherding the first years, but Ron remained with Christina and Harry.

"What really happened to your nose?" he asked, once they were at the very back of the throng pressing out of the Hall, and out of earshot of anyone else. Harry told him. It was a mark of the strength of their friendship that Ron did not laugh.

"I saw Malfoy miming something to do with a nose," he said darkly.

"Yeah, well, never mind that," said Harry bitterly. "Listen to what he was saying before he found out I was there. . . ." Christina had expected Ron to be stunned by Malfoy's boasts. With what Christina considered pure pigheadedness, however, Ron was unimpressed.

"Come on, Harry, he was just showing off for Parkinson. . . . What kind of mission would You-Know-Who have given him?"

"How d'you know Voldemort doesn't need someone at Hogwarts? It wouldn't be the first —"

"I wish yeh'd stop sayin' tha' name, Harry," said a reproachful voice behind them. Christina looked over her shoulder to see Hagrid shaking his head.

"Dumbledore uses that name," said Harry stubbornly.

"Yeah, well, tha's Dumbledore, innit?" said Hagrid mysteriously. "So how come yeh were late, Harry? I was worried."

"Got held up on the train," said Harry. "Why were you late?"

"I was with Grawp," said Hagrid happily. "Los' track o' the time. He's got a new home up in the mountains now, Dumbledore fixed it — nice big cave. He's much happier than he was in the forest. We were havin' a good chat."

"Really?" said Harry; the last time Christina had met Hagrid's half-brother, a vicious giant with a talent for ripping up trees by the roots, his vocabulary had comprised five words, two of which he was unable to pronounce properly.

"Oh yeah, he's really come on," said Hagrid proudly. "Yeh'll be amazed. I'm thinkin' o' trainin' him up as me assistant." Ron snorted loudly, but managed to pass it off as a violent sneeze. They were now standing beside the oak front doors.

"Anyway, I'll see yeh tomorrow, firs' lesson's straight after lunch. Come early an' yeh can say hello ter Buck — I mean, Witherwings!" Raising an arm in cheery farewell, he headed out of the front doors into the darkness. Christina, Harry and Ron looked at each other. Christina could tell that Ron was experiencing the same sinking feeling as herself.

"You're not taking Care of Magical Creatures, are you?" Christina asked. Ron shook his head. "And you're not either, are you?" Harry shook his head too.

"And Hermione," said Ron, "she's not, is she?" Harry shook his head again. Exactly what Hagrid would say when he realized his four favorite students had given up his subject, she did not like to think.


	7. Chapter 7: Felix

Christina met Hermione in the girls' dormitory that night and told her what she had overheard Malfoy say on the Hogwarts Express.

"Well," she said uncertainly, "I don't know. . . . It would be like Malfoy to make himself seem more important than he is . . . but that's a big lie to tell. . . ." she said quietly, trying not to alert the other girls.

"Exactly," said Christina, but she could not press the point, because so many people were trying to listen in to their conversation, not to mention staring at her and whispering behind their hands. Hermione noticed this as well and sighed, climbing into bed.

"Perhaps tomorrow . . ." said Hermione, Christina knew she was right and fell fast asleep despite the stares. The next morning Christina got dressed quickly and found Harry and Ron down in the common room followed shortly by Hermione.

"It's rude to point," Ron snapped at a particularly minuscule first-year boy as they joined the queue to climb out of the portrait hole the following morning. The boy, who had been muttering something about Harry behind his hand to his friend, promptly turned scarlet and toppled out of the hole in alarm. Ron sniggered.

"I love being a sixth year. And we're going to be getting free time this year. Whole periods when we can just sit up here and relax."

"We're going to need that time for studying, Ron!" said Hermione, as they set off down the corridor.

"Yeah, but not today," said Ron. "Today's going to be a real doss, I reckon."

"Hold it!" said Hermione, throwing out an arm and halting a passing fourth year, who was attempting to push past her with a lime-green disk clutched tightly in his hand.

"Fanged Frisbees are banned, hand it over," she told him sternly. The scowling boy handed over the snarling Frisbee, ducked under her arm, and took off after his friends. Ron waited for him to vanish, then tugged the Frisbee from Hermione's grip.

"Excellent, I've always wanted one of these." Hermione's remonstration was drowned by a loud giggle; Lavender Brown had apparently found Ron's remark highly amusing. She continued to laugh as she passed them, glancing back at Ron over her shoulder. Christina looked 'round to Hermione who couldn't have looked more disgusted if she tried. Ron looked rather pleased with himself. The ceiling of the Great Hall was serenely blue and streaked with frail, wispy clouds, just like the squares of sky visible through the high mullioned windows. While they tucked into porridge and eggs and bacon, Christina, Harry and Ron told Hermione about their embarrassing conversation with Hagrid the previous evening.

"But he can't really think we'd continue Care of Magical Creatures!" she said, looking distressed. "I mean, when has any of us expressed . . . you know . . . any enthusiasm?"

"That's it, though, innit?" said Ron, swallowing an entire fried egg whole. "We were the ones who made the most effort in classes because we like Hagrid. But he thinks we liked the stupid subject. D'you reckon anyone's going to go on to N.E.W.T.?" Neither Christina, Harry nor Hermione answered; there was no need. They knew perfectly well that nobody in their year would want to continue Care of Magical Creatures. They avoided Hagrid's eye and returned his cheery wave only halfheartedly when he left the staff table ten minutes later. After they had eaten, they remained in their places, awaiting Professor McGonagall's descent from the staff table.

The distribution of class schedules was more complicated than usual this year, for Professor McGonagall needed first to confirm that everybody had achieved the necessary O.W.L. grades to continue with their chosen N.E.W.T.s. Christina was immediately cleared to continue with Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, and Potions. Hermione the same but with the addition of Herbology, Arithmancy, and Ancient Runes and shot off to a first period Ancient Runes class without further ado. Neville took a little longer to sort out; his round face was anxious as Professor McGonagall looked down his application and then consulted his O.W.L. results.

"Herbology, fine," she said. "Professor Sprout will be delighted to see you back with an 'Outstanding' O.W.L. And you qualify for Defense Against the Dark Arts with 'Exceeds Expectations.' But the problem is Transfiguration. I'm sorry, Longbottom, but an Acceptable' really isn't good enough to continue to N.E.W.T level. I just don't think you'd be able to cope with the coursework." Neville hung his head. Professor McGonagall peered at him through her square spectacles.

"Why do you want to continue with Transfiguration, anyway? I've never had the impression that you particularly enjoyed it." Neville looked miserable and muttered something about "my grandmother wants."

"Hmph," snorted Professor McGonagall. "It's high time your grandmother learned to be proud of the grandson she's got, rather than the one she thinks she ought to have — particularly after what happened at the Ministry." Neville turned very pink and blinked confusedly; Professor McGonagall had never paid him a compliment before. "I'm sorry, Longbottom, but I cannot let you into my N.E.W.T. class. I see that you have an 'Exceeds Expectations' in Charms, however — why not try for a N.E.W.T. in Charms?"

"My grandmother thinks Charms is a soft option," mumbled Neville.

"Take Charms," said Professor McGonagall, "and I shall drop Augusta a line reminding her that just because she failed her Charms O.W.L., the subject is not necessarily worthless." Smiling slightly at the look of delighted incredulity on Neville's face, Professor McGonagall tapped a blank schedule with the tip of her wand and handed it, now carrying details of his new classes, to Neville. Professor McGonagall turned next to Parvati Patil, whose first question was whether Firenze, the handsome centaur, was still teaching Divination.

"He and Professor Trelawney are dividing classes between them this year," said Professor McGonagall, a hint of disapproval in her voice; it was common knowledge that she despised the subject of Divination.

"The sixth year is being taken by Professor Trelawney." Parvati set off for Divination five minutes later looking slightly crestfallen.

"So, Potter, Potter . . ." said Professor McGonagall, consulting her notes as she turned to Harry.

"Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Transfiguration . . . all fine. I must say, I was pleased with your Transfiguration mark, Potter, very pleased. Now, why haven't you applied to continue with Potions? I thought it was your ambition to become an Auror?"

"It was, but you told me I had to get an 'Outstanding' in my O.W.L., Professor."

"And so you did when Professor Snape was teaching the subject. Professor Slughorn, however, is perfectly happy to accept N.E.W.T students with 'Exceeds Expectations' at O.W.L. Do you wish to proceed with Potions?"

"Yes," said Harry, "but I didn't buy the books or any ingredients or anything —"

"I'm sure Professor Slughorn will be able to lend you some," said Professor McGonagall. "Very well, Potter, here is your schedule. Oh, by the way — twenty hopefuls have already put down their names for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. I shall pass the list to you in due course and you can fix up trials at your leisure." A few minutes later, Ron was cleared to do the same subjects as Christina and Harry, and the three of them left the table together.

"Look," said Ron delightedly, gazing at his schedule, "we've got a free period now . . . and a free period after break . . . and after lunch . . . excellent!" They returned to the common room, which was empty apart from a half dozen seventh years, including Katie Bell.

"I thought you'd get that, well done," she called over, pointing at the Captain's badge on Harry's chest.

"Tell me when you call trials!"

"Don't be stupid," said Harry, "you don't need to try out, I've watched you play for five years. . . ."

"You mustn't start off like that," she said warningly. "For all you know, there's someone much better than me out there. Good teams have been ruined before now because Captains just kept playing the old faces, or letting in their friends. . . ." Ron looked a little uncomfortable and began playing with the Fanged Frisbee Hermione had taken from the fourth-year student. It zoomed around the common room, snarling and attempting to take bites of the tapestry. Crookshanks's yellow eyes followed it and he hissed when it came too close. An hour later they reluctantly left the sunlit common room for the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom four floors below. Hermione was already queuing outside, carrying an armful of heavy books and looking put-upon.

"We got so much homework for Runes," she said anxiously, when Christina, Harry and Ron joined her. "A fifteen-inch essay, two translations, and I've got to read these by Wednesday!"

"Shame," yawned Ron.

"You wait," she said resentfully. "I bet Snape gives us loads."

The classroom door opened as she spoke, and Snape stepped into the corridor, his sallow face framed as ever by two curtains of greasy black hair. Silence fell over the queue immediately.

"Inside," he said. Christina looked around as they entered. Snape had imposed his personality upon the room already; it was gloomier than usual, as curtains had been drawn over the windows, and was lit by candlelight. New pictures adorned the walls, many of them showing people who appeared to be in pain, sporting grisly injuries or strangely contorted body parts. Nobody spoke as they settled down, looking around at the shadowy, gruesome pictures.

"I have not asked you to take out your books," said Snape, closing the door and moving to face the class from behind his desk; Hermione hastily dropped her copy of Confronting the Faceless back into her bag and stowed it under her chair.

"I wish to speak to you, and I want your fullest attention." His black eyes roved over their upturned faces, lingering for a fraction of a second longer on Christina's than anyone else's.

"You have had five teachers in this subject so far, I believe." You believe . . . like you haven't watched them all come and go, Snape, hoping you'd be next, thought Christina scathingly.

"Naturally, these teachers will all have had their own methods and priorities. Given this confusion I am surprised so many of you scraped an O.W.L. in this subject. I shall be even more surprised if all of you manage to keep up with the N.E.W.T. work, which will be much more advanced." Snape set off around the edge of the room, speaking now in a lower voice; the class craned their necks to keep him in view.

"The Dark Arts," said Snape, "are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible." Christina stared at Snape. It was surely one thing to respect the Dark Arts as a dangerous enemy, another to speak of them, as Snape was doing, with a loving caress in his voice?

"Your defenses," said Snape, a little louder, "must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo. These pictures" — he indicated a few of them as he swept past — "give a fair representation of what happens to those who suffer, for instance, the Cruciatus Curse" — he waved a hand toward a witch who was clearly shrieking in agony — "feel the Dementor's Kiss" — a wizard lying huddled and blank-eyed, slumped against a wall — "or provoke the aggression of the Inferius" — a bloody mass upon the ground.

"Has an Inferius been seen, then?" said Parvati Patil in a highpitched voice. "Is it definite, is he using them?"

"The Dark Lord has used Inferi in the past," said Snape, "which means you would be well-advised to assume he might use them again. Now . . ." He set off again around the other side of the classroom toward his desk, and again, they watched him as he walked, his dark robes billowing behind him.

". . . you are, I believe, complete novices in the use of nonverbal spells. What is the advantage of a nonverbal spell?" Hermione's hand shot into the air. Snape took his time looking around at everybody else, making sure he had no choice, before saying curtly, "Very well — Miss Granger?"

"Your adversary has no warning about what kind of magic you're about to perform," said Hermione, "which gives you a split-second advantage."

"An answer copied almost word for word from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six," said Snape dismissively (over in the corner, Malfoy sniggered), "but correct in essentials. Yes, those who progress to using magic without shouting incantations gain an element of surprise in their spell-casting. Not all wizards can do this, of course; it is a question of concentration and mind power which some" — his gaze lingered maliciously upon Christina once more — "lack."

Christina knew Snape was thinking of their disastrous Occlumency lessons of the previous year.

"You will now divide," Snape went on, "into pairs. One partner will attempt to jinx the other without speaking. The other will attempt to repel the jinx in equal silence. Carry on."

Although Snape did not know it, Christina and Harry had taught at least half the class (everyone who had been a member of the D.A.) how to perform a Shield Charm the previous year. None of them had ever cast the charm without speaking, however. A reasonable amount of cheating ensued; many people were merely whispering the incantation instead of saying it aloud. Typically, ten minutes into the lesson Hermione managed to repel Christina's muttered JellyLegs Jinx without uttering a single word, a feat that would surely have earned her twenty points for Gryffindor from any reasonable teacher, thought Christina bitterly, but which Snape ignored.

He swept between them as they practiced, looking just as much like an overgrown bat as ever, lingering to watch Harry and Ron struggling with the task. Hermione's back to Harry and Ron, Christina had a front seat to their disastrous attempts. Ron, who was supposed to be jinxing Harry, was purple in the face, his lips tightly compressed to save himself from the temptation of muttering the incantation. Harry had his wand raised, waiting on tenterhooks to repel a jinx that seemed unlikely ever to come.

"Pathetic, Weasley," said Snape, after a while. "Here — let me show you —" He turned his wand on Harry so fast that Harry reacted immediately and yelled, "Protego!" His Shield Charm was so strong Snape was knocked off-balance and hit a desk. The whole class had looked around and now watched as Snape righted himself, scowling. For once in Christina's life, she did not laugh.

"Do you remember me telling you we are practicing nonverbal spells, Potter?" Christina gritted her teeth watching what she assumed would be Harry's imminent death. She bit her knuckle.

"Yes," said Harry stiffly.

"Yes, sir."

"There's no need to call me 'sir,' Professor." Christina slapped the desk and gaped at Harry, 60 percent amused 40 percent terrified. The words seemed to have escaped him before he knew what he was saying. Several people gasped, including Hermione. Behind Snape, however, Ron, Dean, and Seamus grinned appreciatively.

"Detention, Saturday night, my office," said Snape. "I do not take cheek from anyone, Potter . . . not even 'the Chosen One.' "

The second Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were out of the classroom Christina took Harry by the shoulders and shook him, still shocked.

"You beautiful, stupid, precious, idiot." Said Christina, Harry laughed and waved her off.

"That was brilliant, Harry!" chortled Ron.

"You really shouldn't have said it," said Hermione, frowning at Ron. "What made you?"

"He tried to jinx me, in case you didn't notice!" fumed Harry. "I had enough of that during those Occlumency lessons! Why doesn't he use another guinea pig for a change? What's Dumbledore playing at, anyway, letting him teach Defense? Did you hear him talking about the Dark Arts? He loves them! All that unfixed, indestructible stuff —"

"Well," said Hermione, "I thought he sounded a bit like you."

"Like me?" said Harry.

"Yes, when you were telling us what it's like to face Voldemort. You said it wasn't just memorizing a bunch of spells, you said it was just you and your brains and your guts — well, wasn't that what Snape was saying? That it really comes down to being brave and quick-thinking?"

"Harry! Hey, Harry!" Christina looked around; Jack Sloper, one of the Beaters on last year's Gryffindor Quidditch team, was hurrying toward him holding a roll of parchment.

"For you," panted Sloper. "Listen, I heard you're the new Captain. When're you holding trials?"

"I'm not sure yet," said Harry, Christina highly doubt Sloper would make the cut after his abysmal performance last year.

"I'll let you know."

"Oh, right. I was hoping it'd be this weekend —"

But Harry was not listening; he had just recognized the thin, slanting writing on the parchment. Leaving Sloper in mid-sentence, he hurried away with Ron and Hermione, unrolling the parchment as he went.

Dear Harry,

I would like to start our private lessons this Saturday. Kindly come along to my office at 8 P.M. I hope you are enjoying your first day back at school. Please bring Christina.

Yours sincerely,

 _Albus Dumbledore_

P.S. I enjoy Acid Pops.

"He enjoys Acid Pops?" said Christina, who had read the message over Harry's shoulder and was looking perplexed.

"It's the password to get past the gargoyle outside his study," said Harry in a low voice. "Ha! Snape's not going to be pleased. . . . I won't be able to do his detention!" Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione spent the whole of break speculating on what Dumbledore would teach Christina and Harry. Ron thought it most likely to be spectacular jinxes and hexes of the type the Death Eaters would not know. Hermione said such things were illegal, and thought it much more likely that Dumbledore wanted to teach Christina and Harry advanced Defensive magic. After break, she went off to Arithmancy while Christina, Harry and Ron returned to the common room, where they grudgingly started Snape's homework. This turned out to be so complex that they still had not finished when Hermione joined them for their after-lunch free period (though she considerably speeded up the process). They had only just finished when the bell rang for the afternoon's double Potions and they beat the familiar path down to the dungeon classroom that had, for so long, been Snape's. When they arrived in the corridor they saw that there were only a dozen people progressing to N.E.W.T. level. Crabbe and Goyle had evidently failed to achieve the required O.W.L. grade, but four Slytherins had made it through, including Malfoy. Four Ravenclaws were there, and one Hufflepuff, Ernie Macmillan, whom Christina liked despite his rather pompous manner.

"Christina," Ernie said portentously, holding out his hand as Christina approached, "didn't get a chance to speak in Defense Against the Dark Arts this morning. Good lesson, I thought, but Shield Charms are old hat, of course, for us old D.A. lags . . . And how are you, Harry, Ron — Hermione?" Before they could say more than "fine," the dungeon door opened and Slughorn's belly preceded him out of the door. As they filed into the room, his great walrus mustache curved above his beaming mouth, and he greeted Christina, Harry and Zabini with particular enthusiasm. The dungeon was, most unusually, already full of vapors and odd smells. Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione sniffed interestedly as they passed large, bubbling cauldrons. The four Slytherins took a table together, as did the four Ravenclaws. This left Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione to share a table together with Ernie pulling up a chair on the edge. They chose the one nearest a gold-colored cauldron that was emitting one of the most seductive scents Christina had ever inhaled: Somehow it reminded her simultaneously of old spellbooks from her third year, chlorine pools, and vanilla extract. She found that she was breathing very slowly and deeply and that the potion's fumes seemed to be filling him up like drink. A great contentment stole over her; she grinned across at Harry, who grinned back lazily.

"Now then, now then, now then," said Slughorn, whose massive outline was quivering through the many shimmering vapors. "Scales out, everyone, and potion kits, and don't forget your copies of Advanced Potion-Making. . . ."

"Sir?" said Harry, raising his hand.

"Harry, m'boy?"

"I haven't got a book or scales or anything — nor's Ron — we didn't realize we'd be able to do the N.E.W.T., you see —"

"Ah, yes, Professor McGonagall did mention . . . not to worry, my dear boy, not to worry at all. You can use ingredients from the store cupboard today, and I'm sure we can lend you some scales, and we've got a small stock of old books here, they'll do until you can write to Flourish and Blotts. . . ." Slughorn strode over to a corner cupboard and, after a moment's foraging, emerged with two very battered-looking copies of Advanced Potion-Making by Libatius Borage, which he gave to Harry and Ron along with two sets of tarnished scales.

"Now then," said Slughorn, returning to the front of the class and inflating his already bulging chest so that the buttons on his waistcoat threatened to burst off, "I've prepared a few potions for you to have a look at, just out of interest, you know. These are the kind of thing you ought to be able to make after completing your N.E.W.T.s. You ought to have heard of 'em, even if you haven't made 'em yet. Anyone tell me what this one is?" He indicated the cauldron nearest the Slytherin table. Christina raised herself slightly in her seat and knew what it was instantly. Christina's hand flew up a hair earlier than Hermione's and Christina could see that she was shocked about it too. Slughorn pointed at Christina.

"It's Veritaserum, truth serum" said Christina.

"Very good, very good!" said Slughorn happily. Christina smiled, happily remembering stealing it from Snape's cupboard her fourth year with Fred Weasley.

"Now," he continued, pointing at the cauldron nearest the Ravenclaw table, "this one here is pretty well known. . . . Featured in a few Ministry leaflets lately too . . . Who can — ?" Hermione's hand was fastest once more.

"It's Polyjuice Potion, sir," she said.

"Excellent, excellent! Now, this one here . . . yes, my dear?" said Slughorn, now looking slightly bemused, as Hermione's hand punched the air again.

"It's Amortentia!"

"It is indeed. It seems almost foolish to ask," said Slughorn, who was looking mightily impressed, "but I assume you know what it does?"

"It's the most powerful love potion in the world!" said Hermione.

"Quite right! You recognized it, I suppose, by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?"

"And the steam rising in characteristic spirals," said Hermione enthusiastically, "and it's supposed to smell differently to each of us, according to what attracts us, and I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and —" But she turned slightly pink and did not complete the sentence.

"May I ask your name, my dear?" said Slughorn, ignoring Hermione's embarrassment.

"Hermione Granger, sir."

"Granger? Granger? Can you possibly be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?"

"No, I don't think so, sir. I'm Muggle-born, you see." Christina saw Malfoy lean close to Nott and whisper something; both of them sniggered, but Slughorn showed no dismay; on the contrary, he beamed and looked from Hermione to Harry, who was sitting next to her.

"Oho! 'One of our best friends is Muggle-born, and she's the best in our year!' I'm assuming this is the very friend of whom you spoke, Harry?"

"Yes, sir," said Harry.

"Well, well, take twenty well-earned points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger," said Slughorn genially. Malfoy looked rather as he had done the time Hermione had punched him in the face. Hermione turned to Harry with a radiant expression and whispered, "Did you really tell him I'm the best in the year? Oh, Harry!"

"Well, what's so impressive about that?" whispered Ron, who for some reason looked annoyed. "You are the best in the year — I'd've told him so if he'd asked me!" Hermione smiled but made a "shhing" gesture, so that they could hear what Slughorn was saying. Ron looked slightly disgruntled.

"Amortentia doesn't really create love, of course. It is impossible to manufacture or imitate love. No, this will simply cause a powerful infatuation or obsession. It is probably the most dangerous and powerful potion in this room — oh yes," he said, nodding gravely at Malfoy and Nott, both of whom were smirking skeptically. "When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love. . . .

"And now," said Slughorn, "it is time for us to start work."

"Sir, you haven't told us what's in this one," said Ernie Macmillan, pointing at a small black cauldron standing on Slughorn's desk. The potion within was splashing about merrily; it was the color of molten gold, and large drops were leaping like goldfish above the surface, though not a particle had spilled.

"Oho," said Slughorn again. Christina was sure that Slughorn had not forgotten the potion at all, but had waited to be asked for dramatic effect.

"Yes. That. Well, that one, ladies and gentlemen, is a most curious little potion called Felix Felicis. I take it," he turned, smiling, to look at Hermione, who had let out an audible gasp, "that you know what Felix Felicis does, Miss Granger?"

"It's liquid luck," said Hermione excitedly. "It makes you lucky!" The whole class seemed to sit up a little straighter. All Christina could see of Malfoy was the back of his sleek blond head, because he was at last giving Slughorn his full and undivided attention.

"Quite right, take another ten points for Gryffindor. Yes, it's a funny little potion, Felix Felicis," said Slughorn. "Desperately tricky to make, and disastrous to get wrong. However, if brewed correctly, as this has been, you will find that all your endeavors tend to succeed . . . at least until the effects wear off."

"Why don't people drink it all the time, sir?" said Terry Boot eagerly.

"Because if taken in excess, it causes giddiness, recklessness, and dangerous overconfidence," said Slughorn. "Too much of a good thing, you know . . . highly toxic in large quantities. But taken sparingly, and very occasionally . . ."

"Have you ever taken it, sir?" asked Michael Corner with great interest.

"Twice in my life," said Slughorn. "Once when I was twenty-four, once when I was fifty-seven. Two tablespoonfuls taken with breakfast. Two perfect days." He gazed dreamily into the distance. Whether he was playacting or not, thought Christina, the effect was good.

"And that," said Slughorn, apparently coming back to earth, "is what I shall be offering as a prize in this lesson." There was silence in which every bubble and gurgle of the surrounding potions seemed magnified tenfold.

"One tiny bottle of Felix Felicis," said Slughorn, taking a minuscule glass bottle with a cork in it out of his pocket and showing it to them all. "Enough for twelve hours' luck. From dawn till dusk, you will be lucky in everything you attempt."

"Now, I must give you warning that Felix Felicis is a banned substance in organized competitions . . . sporting events, for instance, examinations, or elections. So the winner is to use it on an ordinary day only . . . and watch how that ordinary day becomes extraordinary!

"So," said Slughorn, suddenly brisk, "how are you to win my fabulous prize? Well, by turning to page ten of Advanced Potion-Making. We have a little over an hour left to us, which should be time for you to make a decent attempt at the Draught of Living Death. I know it is more complex than anything you have attempted before, and I do not expect a perfect potion from anybody. The person who does best, however, will win little Felix here. Off you go!"

There was a scraping as everyone drew their cauldrons toward them and some loud clunks as people began adding weights to their scales, but nobody spoke. The concentration within the room was almost tangible. Christina saw Malfoy riffling feverishly through his copy of Advanced Potion-Making. It could not have been clearer that Malfoy really wanted that lucky day.

Christina bent swiftly over her copy and skipped to page ten to discover the most complicated list of instructions she had ever come across. After reading the ingredients list, Christina hurried off toward the store cupboard to find what she needed. As she dashed back to her cauldron, she saw Malfoy cutting up valerian roots as fast as he could. Everyone kept glancing around at what the rest of the class was doing; this was both an advantage and a disadvantage of Potions, that it was hard to keep your work private. Within ten minutes, the whole place was full of bluish steam. Hermione, of course, seemed to have progressed furthest. Her potion already resembled the "smooth, black currant-colored liquid" mentioned as the ideal halfway stage. Having finished chopping her roots, Christina bent low over her book again.

"Sir, I think you knew my grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy?" Harry looked up; Slughorn was just passing the Slytherin table.

"Yes," said Slughorn, without looking at Malfoy, "I was sorry to hear he had died, although of course it wasn't unexpected, dragon pox at his age. . . ." And he walked away. Christina bent back over her cauldron, smirking. She could tell that Malfoy had expected to be treated like herself, Harry or Zabini; perhaps even hoped for some preferential treatment of the type he had learned to expect from Snape. It looked as though Malfoy would have to rely on nothing but talent to win the bottle of Felix Felicis. The sopophorous bean was proving very difficult to cut up. Christina turned to Hermione who unfortunately was far past this step. Christina then turned to Harry who instead of cutting the bean crushed it to get the juice out. Intrigued, Christina tried the same and hastily scooped it all into the cauldron she saw, to her surprise, that the potion immediately turned exactly the shade of lilac described by the textbook.

According to the book, the next step was for her to stir counterclockwise until the potion turned clear as water. She began stirring but stopped to watch Hermione watch Harry.

"How are you doing that?" demanded Hermione, who was red-faced and whose hair was growing bushier and bushier in the fumes from her cauldron; her potion was still resolutely purple.

"Add a clockwise stir —"

"No, no, the book says counterclockwise!" she snapped. Harry shrugged and continued what he was doing. Now Christina was watching him. Seven stirs counterclockwise, one clockwise, pause . . . seven stirs counterclockwise, one stir clockwise . . . Christina started to copy and after the one clockwise stir the effect was immediate, her cauldron went pale pink.

"Hey, cheater!" Harry said to Christina, catching her wandering eye. She smiled, "Don't act like you haven't cheated off me in Charms!" Harry shrugged again then slid his textbook over to Christina who was taken aback. The previous owner had scribbled all over the pages so that the margins were as black as the printed portions.

"You're following their directions?" Christina whispered to Harry. He nodded and returned back to his work.

Across the table, Ron was cursing fluently under his breath; his potion looked like liquid licorice. Christina glanced around. As far as she could see, no one else's potion had turned as pale as Harry's.

"And time's . . . up!" called Slughorn. "Stop stirring, please!"

Slughorn moved slowly among the tables, peering into cauldrons. He made no comment, but occasionally gave the potions a stir or a sniff. At last he reached the table where Christina, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ernie were sitting. He smiled ruefully at the tarlike substance in Ron's cauldron. He passed over Ernie's navy concoction. Hermione's potion he gave an approving nod. Passed by Christina's with excitement, but when he saw Harry's, there was a look of incredulous delight spread over his face.

"The clear winner!" he cried to the dungeon. "Excellent, excellent, Harry! Good lord, it's clear you've inherited your mother's talent. She was a dab hand at Potions, Lily was! Here you are, then, here you are — one bottle of Felix Felicis, as promised, and use it well!" Harry slipped the tiny bottle of golden liquid into his inner pocket, Christina felt an odd combination of delight at the furious looks on the Slytherins' faces and annoyance that Harry had beaten her in a subject she had gotten a better OWL score on than him. Ron looked simply dumbfounded.

"How did you do that?" he whispered to Harry as they left the dungeon.

"Got lucky, I suppose," said Harry, because Malfoy was within earshot. Once they were securely ensconced at the Gryffindor table for dinner, however, he felt safe enough to tell them. Hermione's face became stonier with every word he uttered.

"I s'pose you think he cheated?" Christina said, amused by Hermione's expression.

"Well, it wasn't exactly Harry's own work, was it?" she said stiffly.

"He only followed different instructions to ours," said Ron. "Could've been a catastrophe, couldn't it? But he took a risk and it paid off." He heaved a sigh. "Slughorn could've handed me that book, but no, I get the one no one's ever written on. Puked on, by the look of page fifty-two, but —"

"Hang on," said a voice close by. Christina looked around and saw that Ginny had joined them. "Did I hear right? You've been taking orders from something someone wrote in a book, Harry?" She looked alarmed and angry. Though Christina was not yet at Hogwarts, she had heard about Ginny being taken into the Chamber of Secrets by the writings from a secret diary.

"It's nothing," he said reassuringly, lowering his voice. "It's not like, you know, Riddle's diary. It's just an old textbook someone's scribbled on."

"But you're doing what it says?"

"I just tried a few of the tips written in the margins, honestly, Ginny, there's nothing funny —"

"Ginny's got a point," said Hermione, perking up at once. "We ought to check that there's nothing odd about it. I mean, all these funny instructions, who knows?"

"Hey!" said Harry indignantly, as she pulled his copy of Advanced Potion-Making out of his bag and raised her wand.

"Specialis Revelio!" she said, rapping it smartly on the front cover. Nothing whatsoever happened. The book simply lay there, looking old and dirty and dog-eared.

"Finished?" said Harry irritably. "Or d'you want to wait and see if it does a few backflips?"

"It seems all right," said Hermione, still staring at the book suspiciously. "I mean, it really does seem to be . . . just a textbook."

"Good. Then I'll have it back," said Harry, snatching it off the table. He headed off for the boy's staircase.

"If it makes you feel better Hermione, I cheated off Harry the whole time." Christina said watching Harry go.

"Why on earth would that make me feel better?" Hermione said rudely.

"Worth a shot." Christina shot a wink at Harry who shook his head smiling.


	8. Chapter 8: Nailed Snake

For the rest of the week's Potions lessons Harry continued to follow the Half-Blood Prince's instructions wherever they deviated from Libatius Borage's, with the result that by their fourth lesson Slughorn was raving about Harry's abilities, saying that he had rarely taught anyone so talented. Christina was considered the second best student in the class just by simply being one step behind Harry. Neither Ron nor Hermione was delighted by this. Although Harry had offered to share his book with both of them, Ron had more difficulty deciphering the handwriting than Harry did, and could not keep asking Harry to read aloud or it might look suspicious. Hermione, meanwhile, was resolutely plowing on with what she called the "official" instructions, but becoming increasingly bad-tempered as they yielded poorer results than the author: The Half-Blood Prince. The name was scribbled on the inside of the cover and Christina wondered vaguely who the Half-Blood Prince had been. According to Harry the Prince had not only written potions instructions but also directions for what looked like spells that the Prince had made up himself.

"Or herself," said Hermione irritably, overhearing Harry pointing some of these out to Christina and Ron in the common room on Saturday evening. "It might have been a girl. I think the handwriting looks more like a girl's than a boy's."

"The Half-Blood Prince, he was called," Harry said. "How many girls have been Princes?" Hermione seemed to have no answer to this. She merely scowled and twitched her essay on The Principles of Rematerialization away from Ron, who was trying to read it upside down. Harry looked at his watch and hurriedly put the old copy of Advanced Potion-Making back into his bag.

"It's five to eight, Christina we'd better go, we'll be late for Dumbledore."

"Ooooh!" gasped Hermione, looking up at once. "Good luck! We'll wait up, we want to hear what he teaches you!"

"Hope it goes okay," said Ron, and the pair of them watched Christina and Harry leave through the portrait hole.

"I hope it's a whole lesson on dangerous spells, imagine if Malfoy found out." Christina mused as they proceeded through deserted corridors.

"I can't believe Ron and Hermione don't believe he's up to something, you heard what he said in the compartment!"

"Well yeah . . . but he knew you were there the whole time, you said. So wouldn't he say things to intentionally throw you off course?"

"I don't—wait, someone's coming." They stepped hastily behind a statue when Professor Trelawney appeared around a corner, muttering to herself as she shuffled a pack of dirty-looking playing cards, reading them as she walked.

"Two of spades: conflict," she murmured, as she passed the place where Christina and Harry crouched, hidden.

"Seven of spades: an ill omen. Ten of spades: violence. Knave of spades: a dark young man, possibly troubled, one who dislikes the questioner —" She stopped dead, right on the other side of Christina and Harry's statue.

"Well, that can't be right," she said, annoyed, and Christina heard her reshuffling vigorously as she set off again, leaving nothing but a whiff of cooking sherry behind her. They waited until they were quite sure she had gone, then hurried off again until they reached the spot in the seventh-floor corridor where a single gargoyle stood against the wall.

"Acid Pops," said Harry, and the gargoyle leapt aside; the wall behind it slid apart, and a moving spiral stone staircase was revealed, onto which Christina and Harry stepped, so that they were carried in smooth circles up to the door with the brass knocker that led to Dumbledore's office.

"I always forget that staircase exists, I normally just bust through the walls . . ." Christina said humorously.

"Trust me if I could I would skip the steps too" Harry said shaking his head. Harry knocked on the door.

"Come in," said Dumbledore's voice.

"Good evening, sir," said Harry, walking into the headmaster's office.

"Good evening, Professor!" Christina said more excited. She was ready for some spells, she loved charms and had a small hope that Professor Dumbledore would help her with her natural powers as well.

"Ah, good evening, Harry, Christina. Sit down," said Dumbledore, smiling. "I hope you've had an enjoyable first week back at school?"

"Well—"

"Yes, thanks, sir," said Harry.

"You must have been busy, a detention under your belt already!"

"I know, man after my own heart." Christina joked.

"Er," began Harry awkwardly, but Dumbledore did not look too stern.

"I have arranged with Professor Snape that you will do your detention next Saturday instead."

"Right," said Harry, Christina had more pressing matters on her mind than Snape's detention with Harry, and now looked around surreptitiously for some indication of what Dumbledore was planning to do with them this evening. The circular office looked just as it always did; the delicate silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables, puffing smoke and whirring; portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses dozed in their frames, and Dumbledore's magnificent phoenix, Fawkes, stood on his perch behind the door, watching Christina with bright interest. It did not even look as though Dumbledore had cleared a space for dueling practice.

"So," said Dumbledore, in a businesslike voice. "You have been wondering, I am sure, what I have planned for you during these — for want of a better word — lessons?"

"Yes, sir." Christina and Harry said together.

"Well, I have decided that it is time, now that you know what prompted Lord Voldemort to try and kill you, Harry, twenty-two years ago, and for you Christina to become part of the prophecy, for you to be given certain information." There was a pause.

"You said, at the end of last term, you were going to tell us everything," said Christina. It was hard to keep a note of accusation from her voice. "Sir," she added.

"And so I did," said Dumbledore placidly. "I told you everything I know. From this point forth, we shall be leaving the firm foundation of fact and journeying together through the murky marshes of memory into thickets of wildest guesswork. From here on in, I may be as woefully wrong as Humphrey Belcher, who believed the time was ripe for a cheese cauldron."

"But you think you're right?" said Harry.

"Naturally I do, but as I have already proven to you, I make mistakes like the next man. In fact, being — forgive me — rather cleverer than most men, my mistakes tend to be correspondingly huger."

"Sir," said Harry tentatively, "does what you're going to tell us have anything to do with the prophecy? Will it help us . . . survive?"

"It has a very great deal to do with the prophecy," said Dumbledore, as casually as if Harry had asked him about the next day's weather, "and I certainly hope that it will help you to survive." Dumbledore got to his feet and walked around the desk, past Christina and Harry, who turned eagerly in their seats to watch Dumbledore bending over the cabinet beside the door. When Dumbledore straightened up, he was holding a familiar shallow stone basin etched with odd markings around its rim. He placed the Pensieve on the desk in front of Christina and Harry.

"You look disappointed." Christina had indeed been eyeing the Pensieve with some boredom. Her previous experiences with the odd device that stored and revealed thoughts and memories, though highly instructive, was much less appealing than a dueling lesson. The last time she had disturbed its contents, she had seen much more than she would have wished. But Dumbledore was smiling.

"This time, you enter the Pensieve with me . . . and, even more unusually, with permission."

"Where are we going, sir?"

"For a trip down Bob Ogden's memory lane," said Dumbledore, pulling from his pocket a crystal bottle containing a swirling silvery-white substance.

"Who was Bob Ogden?"

"He was employed by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," said Dumbledore. "He died some time ago, but not before I had tracked him down and persuaded him to confide these recollections to me. We are about to accompany him on a visit he made in the course of his duties. If you will stand, Harry . . ." But Dumbledore was having difficulty pulling out the stopper of the crystal bottle: His injured hand seemed stiff and painful.

"Shall — shall I, sir?"

"No matter, Harry —" Dumbledore pointed his wand at the bottle and the cork flew out.

"Sir — how did you injure your hand?" Christina asked again, looking at the blackened fingers with a mixture of revulsion and pity.

"Now is not the moment for that story, Christina. Not yet. We have an appointment with Bob Ogden." Dumbledore tipped the silvery contents of the bottle into the Pensieve, where they swirled and shimmered, neither liquid nor gas.

"After you," said Dumbledore, gesturing toward the bowl. Christina and Harry bent forward, took deep breaths, and plunged their faces into the silvery substance. Christina felt her feet leave the office floor; she was falling, falling through whirling darkness and then, quite suddenly, she was blinking in dazzling sunlight. Before her eyes had adjusted, Dumbledore landed beside them. They were standing in a country lane bordered by high, tangled hedgerows, beneath a summer sky as bright and blue as a forget-me-not. Some ten feet in front of them stood a short, plump man wearing enormously thick glasses that reduced his eyes to mole-like specks. He was reading a wooden signpost that was sticking out of the brambles on the left-hand side of the road.

Christina knew this must be Ogden; he was the only person in sight, and he was also wearing the strange assortment of clothes so often chosen by inexperienced wizards trying to look like Muggles: in this case, a frock coat and spats over a striped one-piece bathing costume. Before Christina had time to do more than register his bizarre appearance, however, Ogden had set off at a brisk walk down the lane. Dumbledore, Christina and Harry followed. As they passed the wooden sign, Christina looked up at its two arms. The one pointing back the way they had come read: Great Hangleton, 5 miles. The arm pointing after Ogden said Little Hangleton, 1 mile. They walked a short way with nothing to see but the hedgerows, the wide blue sky overhead and the swishing, frock-coated figure ahead. Then the lane curved to the left and fell away, sloping steeply down a hillside, so that they had a sudden, unexpected view of a whole valley laid out in front of them.

Christina could see a village, undoubtedly Little Hangleton, nestled between two steep hills, its church and graveyard clearly visible. Across the valley, set on the opposite hillside, was a handsome manor house surrounded by a wide expanse of velvety green lawn. Ogden had broken into a reluctant trot due to the steep downward slope. Dumbledore lengthened his stride, and Christina and Harry hurried to keep up. She thought Little Hangleton must be their final destination and wondered, as she had done on the night they had found Slughorn, why they had to approach it from such a distance. She soon discovered that she was mistaken in thinking that they were going to the village, however. The lane curved to the right and when they rounded the corner, it was to see the very edge of Ogden's frock coat vanishing through a gap in the hedge. Dumbledore, Christina and Harry followed him onto a narrow dirt track bordered by higher and wilder hedgerows than those they had left behind. The path was crooked, rocky, and potholed, sloping downhill like the last one, and it seemed to be heading for a patch of dark trees a little below them. Sure enough, the track soon opened up at the copse, and Dumbledore, Christina and Harry came to a halt behind Ogden, who had stopped and drawn his wand. Despite the cloudless sky, the old trees ahead cast deep, dark, cool shadows, and it was a few seconds before Christina's eyes discerned the building half-hidden amongst the tangle of trunks. It seemed to her a very strange location to choose for a house, or else an odd decision to leave the trees growing nearby, blocking all light and the view of the valley below. She wondered whether it was inhabited; its walls were mossy and so many tiles had fallen off the roof that the rafters were visible in places. Nettles grew all around it, their tips reaching the windows, which were tiny and thick with grime. Just as she had concluded that nobody could possibly live there, however, one of the windows was thrown open with a clatter, and a thin trickle of steam or smoke issued from it, as though somebody was cooking. Ogden moved forward quietly and, it seemed to Christina, rather cautiously.

As the dark shadows of the trees slid over him, he stopped again, staring at the front door, to which somebody had nailed a dead snake. Then there was a rustle and a crack, and a man in rags dropped from the nearest tree, landing on his feet right in front of Ogden, who leapt backward so fast he stood on the tails of his frock coat and stumbled.

The man standing before them hissed at Ogden. The man had thick hair so matted with dirt it could have been any color. Several of his teeth were missing. His eyes were small and dark and stared in opposite directions. He might have looked comical, but he did not; the effect was frightening, and Christina could not blame Ogden for backing away several more paces before he spoke.

"Er — good morning. I'm from the Ministry of Magic —" Again the man hissed at him, although it almost seemed like he was hissing words, Christina leaned closer to try and decipher what he was saying.

"Er — I'm sorry — I don't understand you," said Ogden nervously. Christina didn't understand what was happening, she looked up to Dumbledore who was smiling down on Harry.

"You understand him, I'm sure, Harry?" said Dumbledore quietly.

"Yes, of course," said Harry, slightly nonplussed.

"Why can't I or Ogden — ?" Christina started, but as her eyes found the dead snake on the door again, she suddenly understood. "He's speaking Parseltongue?"

"Very good," said Dumbledore, nodding and smiling. The man in rags was now advancing on Ogden, knife in one hand, wand in the other.

"Now, look —" Ogden began, but too late: There was a bang, and Ogden was on the ground, clutching his nose, while a nasty yellowish goo squirted from between his fingers.

"Morfin!" said a loud voice. An elderly man had come hurrying out of the cottage, banging the door behind him so that the dead snake swung pathetically. This man was shorter than the first, and oddly proportioned; his shoulders were very broad and his arms overlong, which, with his bright brown eyes, short scrubby hair, and wrinkled face, gave him the look of a powerful, aged monkey. He came to a halt beside the man with the knife, who was now cackling with laughter at the sight of Ogden on the ground.

"Ministry, is it?" said the older man, looking down at Ogden.

"Correct!" said Ogden angrily, dabbing his face. "And you, I take it, are Mr. Gaunt?"

"S'right," said Gaunt. "Got you in the face, did he?"

"Yes, he did!" snapped Ogden.

"Should've made your presence known, shouldn't you?" said Gaunt aggressively. "This is private property. Can't just walk in here and not expect my son to defend himself."

"Defend himself against what, man?" said Ogden, clambering back to his feet.

"Busybodies. Intruders. Muggles and filth." Ogden pointed his wand at his own nose, which was still issuing large amounts of what looked like yellow pus, and the flow stopped at once. Mr. Gaunt spoke out of the corner of his mouth to Morfin, although now in Parseltongue. Morfin seemed to be on the point of disagreeing, but when his father cast him a threatening look he changed his mind, lumbering away to the cottage with an odd rolling gait and slamming the front door behind him, so that the snake swung sadly again.

"It's your son I'm here to see, Mr. Gaunt," said Ogden, as he mopped the last of the pus from the front of his coat.

"That was Morfin, wasn't it?"

"Ar, that was Morfin," said the old man indifferently. "Are you pure-blood?" he asked, suddenly aggressive.

"That's neither here nor there," said Ogden coldly, and Christina felt her respect for Ogden rise. Apparently Gaunt felt rather differently. He squinted into Ogden's face and muttered, in what was clearly supposed to be an offensive tone, "Now I come to think about it, I've seen noses like yours down in the village."

"I don't doubt it, if your son's been let loose on them," said Ogden. "Perhaps we could continue this discussion inside?"

"Inside?"

"Yes, Mr. Gaunt. I've already told you. I'm here about Morfin. We sent an owl —"

"I've no use for owls," said Gaunt. "I don't open letters."

"Then you can hardly complain that you get no warning of visitors," said Ogden tartly. "I am here following a serious breach of Wizarding law, which occurred here in the early hours of this morning —"

"All right, all right, all right!" bellowed Gaunt. "Come in the bleeding house, then, and much good it'll do you!" The house seemed to contain three tiny rooms. Two doors led off the main room, which served as kitchen and living room combined. Morfin was sitting in a filthy armchair beside the smoking fire, twisting a live adder between his thick fingers and crooning softly at it in Parseltongue.

"What's he saying?" Christina whispered to Harry. Harry shrugged, "He's just . . . giving the snake baby-talk . . ." Christina was taken aback, "Weird." She said, but Dumbledore directed her interest to the scuffling noise in the corner beside the open window, and Christina realized that there was somebody else in the room, a girl whose ragged gray dress was the exact color of the dirty stonewall behind her. She was standing beside a steaming pot on a grimy black stove, and was fiddling around with the shelf of squalid-looking pots and pans above it. Her hair was lank and dull and she had a plain, pale, rather heavy face. Her eyes, like her brother's, stared in opposite directions. She looked a little cleaner than the two men, but Christina thought she had never seen a more defeated looking person.

"M'daughter, Merope," said Gaunt grudgingly, as Ogden looked inquiringly toward her.

"Good morning," said Ogden. She did not answer, but with a frightened glance at her father turned her back on the room and continued shifting the pots on the shelf behind her.

"Well, Mr. Gaunt," said Ogden, "to get straight to the point, we have reason to believe that your son, Morfin, performed magic in front of a Muggle late last night." There was a deafening clang. Merope had dropped one of the pots.

"Pick it up!" Gaunt bellowed at her. "That's it, grub on the floor like some filthy Muggle, what's your wand for, you useless sack of muck?"

"Mr. Gaunt, please!" said Ogden in a shocked voice, as Merope, who had already picked up the pot, flushed blotchily scarlet, lost her grip on the pot again, drew her wand shakily from her pocket, pointed it at the pot, and muttered a hasty, inaudible spell that caused the pot to shoot across the floor away from her, hit the opposite wall, and crack in two. Morfin let out a mad cackle of laughter. Gaunt screamed, "Mend it, you pointless lump, mend it!" Merope stumbled across the room, but before she had time to raise her wand, Ogden had lifted his own and said firmly, "Reparo." The pot mended itself instantly. Gaunt looked for a moment as though he was going to shout at Ogden, but seemed to think better of it: Instead, he jeered at his daughter, "Lucky the nice man from the Ministry's here, isn't it? Perhaps he'll take you off my hands, perhaps he doesn't mind dirty Squibs. . . ." Without looking at anybody or thanking Ogden, Merope picked up the pot and returned it, hands trembling, to its shelf. She then stood quite still, her back against the wall between the filthy window and the stove, as though she wished for nothing more than to sink into the stone and vanish.

"Mr. Gaunt," Ogden began again, "as I've said: the reason for my visit —"

"I heard you the first time!" snapped Gaunt. "And so what? Morfin gave a Muggle a bit of what was coming to him — what about it, then?"

"Morfin has broken Wizarding law," said Ogden sternly.

" 'Morfin has broken Wizarding law.' " Gaunt imitated Ogden's voice, making it pompous and singsong. Morfin cackled again. "He taught a filthy Muggle a lesson, that's illegal now, is it?"

"Yes," said Ogden. "I'm afraid it is." He pulled from an inside pocket a small scroll of parchment and unrolled it.

"What's that, then, his sentence?" said Gaunt, his voice rising angrily.

"It is a summons to the Ministry for a hearing —"

"Summons! Summons? Who do you think you are, summoning my son anywhere?"

"I'm Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad," said Ogden.

"And you think we're scum, do you?" screamed Gaunt, advancing on Ogden now, with a dirty yellow-nailed finger pointing at his chest. "Scum who'll come running when the Ministry tells 'em to? Do you know who you're talking to, you filthy little Mudblood, do you?"

"I was under the impression that I was speaking to Mr. Gaunt," said Ogden, looking wary, but standing his ground.

"That's right!" roared Gaunt. For a moment, Christina thought Gaunt was making an obscene hand gesture, but then realized that he was showing Ogden the ugly, black-stoned ring he was wearing on his middle finger, waving it before Ogden's eyes.

"See this? See this? Know what it is? Know where it came from? Centuries it's been in our family, that's how far back we go, and pure-blood all the way! Know how much I've been offered for this, with the Peverell coat of arms engraved on the stone?"

"I've really no idea," said Ogden, blinking as the ring sailed within an inch of his nose, "and it's quite beside the point, Mr. Gaunt. Your son has committed —" With a howl of rage, Gaunt ran toward his daughter. For a split second, Christina thought he was going to throttle her as his hand flew to her throat; next moment, he was dragging her toward Ogden by a gold chain around her neck. Christina grabbed Harry's arm in fear.

"See this?" he bellowed at Ogden, shaking a heavy gold locket at him, while Merope spluttered and gasped for breath.

"I see it, I see it!" said Ogden hastily.

"Slytherin's!" yelled Gaunt. "Salazar Slytherin's! We're his last living descendants, what do you say to that, eh?"

"Mr. Gaunt, your daughter!" said Ogden in alarm, but Gaunt had already released Merope; she staggered away from him, back to her corner, massaging her neck and gulping for air. Christina noticed she was still holding Harry's arm and let go, embarrassed.

"So!" said Gaunt triumphantly, as though he had just proved a complicated point beyond all possible dispute. "Don't you go talking to us as if we're dirt on your shoes! Generations of purebloods, wizards all — more than you can say, I don't doubt!" And he spat on the floor at Ogden's feet. Morfin cackled again. Merope, huddled beside the window, her head bowed and her face hidden by her lank hair, said nothing.

"Mr. Gaunt," said Ogden doggedly, "I am afraid that neither your ancestors nor mine have anything to do with the matter in hand. I am here because of Morfin, Morfin and the Muggle he accosted late last night. Our information" — he glanced down at his scroll of parchment — "is that Morfin performed a jinx or hex on the said Muggle, causing him to erupt in highly painful hives." Morfin giggled. Gaunt snarled something in Parseltongue, and Morfin fell silent again.

"And so what if he did, then?" Gaunt said defiantly to Ogden. "I expect you've wiped the Muggle's filthy face clean for him, and his memory to boot —"

"That's hardly the point, is it, Mr. Gaunt?" said Ogden. "This was an unprovoked attack on a defenseless —"

"Ar, I had you marked out as a Muggle-lover the moment I saw you," sneered Gaunt, and he spat on the floor again.

"This discussion is getting us nowhere," said Ogden firmly. "It is clear from your son's attitude that he feels no remorse for his actions." He glanced down at his scroll of parchment again. "Morfin will attend a hearing on the fourteenth of September to answer the charges of using magic in front of a Muggle and causing harm and distress to that same Mugg —" Ogden broke off. The jingling, clopping sounds of horses and loud, laughing voices were drifting in through the open window. Apparently the winding lane to the village passed very close to the copse where the house stood. Gaunt froze, listening, his eyes wide. Morfin hissed and turned his face toward the sounds, his expression hungry. Merope raised her head. Her face, Christina saw, was starkly white.

"My God, what an eyesore!" rang out a girl's voice, as clearly audible through the open window as if she had stood in the room beside them. "Couldn't your father have that hovel cleared away, Tom?"

"It's not ours," said a young man's voice. "Everything on the other side of the valley belongs to us, but that cottage belongs to an old tramp called Gaunt, and his children. The son's quite mad, you should hear some of the stories they tell in the village —" The girl laughed. The jingling, clopping noises were growing louder and louder. Morfin made to get out of his armchair but Gaunt silenced him again in Parseltongue.

"Tom," said the girl's voice again, now so close they were clearly right beside the house, "I might be wrong — but has somebody nailed a snake to that door?"

"Good lord, you're right!" said the man's voice. "That'll be the son, I told you he's not right in the head. Don't look at it, Cecilia, darling." The jingling and clopping sounds were now growing fainter again. Morfin started whispering Parseltongue to Merope, though Christina could not tell what was being said, Merope was so white Christina felt sure she was going to faint. The Gaunt's then began arguing at each other in Parseltongue, Christina turned to Harry, confused.

"The girl likes Tom –the man on the horse—but he's a muggle so they don't like him." Harry informed Christina. She gave a little 'ah' and continued to watch this renewed outbreak of incomprehensible hissing and rasping.

Merope shook her head frantically, pressing herself into the wall, apparently unable to speak.

"Morfin attacked Tom, Tom was the muggle he jinxed." Harry whispered in Christina's ear. Gaunt then lost control, and his hands closed around his daughter's throat. Both Harry and Ogden yelled "No!" at the same time; Ogden raised his wand and cried, "Relashio!" Gaunt was thrown backward, away from his daughter; he tripped over a chair and fell flat on his back. With a roar of rage, Morfin leapt out of his chair and ran at Ogden, brandishing his bloody knife and firing hexes indiscriminately from his wand. Ogden ran for his life. Dumbledore indicated that they ought to follow and Christina and Harry obeyed, Merope's screams echoing in Christina's ears.

Ogden hurtled up the path and erupted onto the main lane, his arms over his head, where he collided with the glossy chestnut horse ridden by a very handsome, dark-haired young man. Both he and the pretty girl riding beside him on a gray horse roared with laughter at the sight of Ogden, who bounced off the horse's flank and set off again, his frock coat flying, covered from head to foot in dust, running pell-mell up the lane.

"I think that will do," said Dumbledore. He took Christina by the elbow and tugged. Next moment, they were both soaring weightlessly through darkness, until they landed squarely on their feet, back in Dumbledore's now twilit office.

"What happened to the girl in the cottage?" said Harry at once, as Dumbledore lit extra lamps with a flick of his wand.

"Yeah, Merope, or whatever her name was?" Christina joined in.

"Oh, she survived," said Dumbledore, reseating himself behind his desk and indicating that Christina and Harry should sit down too. "Ogden Apparated back to the Ministry and returned with reinforcements within fifteen minutes. Morfin and his father attempted to fight, but both were overpowered, removed from the cottage, and subsequently convicted by the Wizengamot. Morfin, who already had a record of Muggle attacks, was sentenced to three years in Azkaban. Marvolo, who had injured several Ministry employees in addition to Ogden, received six months."

"Marvolo?" Harry repeated wonderingly. Where had Christina heard that name before?

"That's right," said Dumbledore, smiling in approval. "I am glad to see you're keeping up."

"That old man was — ?"

"Voldemort's grandfather, yes," said Dumbledore. Tom Marvolo Riddle . . . the name just came back to Christina and she reassessed the scene she just saw in wonder.

"Marvolo, his son, Morfin, and his daughter, Merope, were the last of the Gaunts, a very ancient Wizarding family noted for a vein of instability and violence that flourished through the generations due to their habit of marrying their own cousins. Lack of sense coupled with a great liking for grandeur meant that the family gold was squandered several generations before Marvolo was born. He, as you saw, was left in squalor and poverty, with a very nasty temper, a fantastic amount of arrogance and pride, and a couple of family heirlooms that he treasured just as much as his son, and rather more than his daughter."

"So Merope," said Harry, leaning forward in his chair and staring at Dumbledore, "so Merope was . . . Sir, does that mean she was . . . Voldemort's mother?"

"It does," said Dumbledore. "And it so happens that we also had a glimpse of Voldemort's father. I wonder whether you noticed?"

"Tom." Said Christina starting to connect the dots.

"Very good indeed," said Dumbledore, beaming. "Yes, that was Tom Riddle senior, the handsome Muggle who used to go riding past the Gaunt cottage and for whom Merope Gaunt cherished a secret, burning passion."

"And they ended up married?" Christina said in disbelief, unable to imagine two people less likely to fall in love.

"I think you are forgetting," said Dumbledore, "that Merope was a witch. I do not believe that her magical powers appeared to their best advantage when she was being terrorized by her father. Once Marvolo and Morfin were safely in Azkaban, once she was alone and free for the first time in her life, then, I am sure, she was able to give full rein to her abilities and to plot her escape from the desperate life she had led for eighteen years.

"Can you not think of any measure Merope could have taken to make Tom Riddle forget his Muggle companion, and fall in love with her instead?"

"The Imperius Curse?" Harry suggested.

"Or a love potion?" Christina asked.

"Very good. Personally, I am inclined to think that she used a love potion. I am sure it would have seemed more romantic to her, and I do not think it would have been very difficult, some hot day, when Riddle was riding alone, to persuade him to take a drink of water. In any case, within a few months of the scene we have just witnessed, the village of Little Hangleton enjoyed a tremendous scandal. You can imagine the gossip it caused when the squire's son ran off with the tramp's daughter, Merope.

"But the villagers' shock was nothing to Marvolo's. He returned from Azkaban, expecting to find his daughter dutifully awaiting his return with a hot meal ready on his table. Instead, he found a clear inch of dust and her note of farewell, explaining what she had done.

"From all that I have been able to discover, he never mentioned her name or existence from that time forth. The shock of her desertion may have contributed to his early death — or perhaps he had simply never learned to feed himself. Azkaban had greatly weakened Marvolo, and he did not live to see Morfin return to the cottage."

"And Merope? She . . . she died, didn't she? Wasn't Voldemort brought up in an orphanage?" Harry asked.

"Yes, indeed," said Dumbledore. "We must do a certain amount of guessing here, although I do not think it is difficult to deduce what happened. You see, within a few months of their runaway marriage, Tom Riddle reappeared at the manor house in Little Hangleton without his wife. The rumor flew around the neighborhood that he was talking of being 'hoodwinked' and 'taken in.' What he meant, I am sure, is that he had been under an enchantment that had now lifted, though I daresay he did not dare use those precise words for fear of being thought insane. When they heard what he was saying, however, the villagers guessed that Merope had lied to Tom Riddle, pretending that she was going to have his baby, and that he had married her for this reason."

"But she did have his baby." Christina said.

"But not until a year after they were married. Tom Riddle left her while she was still pregnant."

"What went wrong?" asked Harry. "Why did the love potion stop working?"

"Again, this is guesswork," said Dumbledore, "but I believe that Merope, who was deeply in love with her husband, could not bear to continue enslaving him by magical means. I believe that she made the choice to stop giving him the potion. Perhaps, besotted as she was, she had convinced herself that he would by now have fallen in love with her in return. Perhaps she thought he would stay for the baby's sake. If so, she was wrong on both counts. He left her, never saw her again, and never troubled to discover what became of his son." The sky outside was inky black and the lamps in Dumbledore's office seemed to glow more brightly than before.

"I think that will do for tonight, kids," said Dumbledore after a moment or two.

"Yes, sir," said Christina. She got to her feet, but did not leave. "Sir . . . is it important to know all this about Voldemort's past?" She failed History of Magic she couldn't imagine she'd do well on a history lesson on Lord Voldmort once a week.

"Very important, I think," said Dumbledore.

"And it . . . it's got something to do with the prophecy?" Harry added, clearly doubtful as well.

"It has everything to do with the prophecy."

"Right," said Harry, a little confused, but reassured all the same. He turned to go with Christina but then he turned back again.

"Sir, are we allowed to tell Ron and Hermione everything you've told us?" Dumbledore considered him for a moment, then said, "Yes, I think Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger have proved themselves trustworthy. But, I am going to ask the two of you to ask them not to repeat any of this to anybody else. It would not be a good idea if word got around how much I know, or suspect, about Lord Voldemort's secrets."

"No, sir, I'll make sure it's just Ron and Hermione. Good night." He turned away again, and was almost at the door when Christina saw it. Sitting on one of the little spindle-legged tables that supported so many frail-looking silver instruments, was an ugly gold ring set with a large, cracked, black stone.

"Sir," said Christina, staring at it. "That ring —"

"Yes?" said Dumbledore.

"You were wearing it when we visited Professor Slughorn that night."

"So I was," Dumbledore agreed.

"But isn't it . . . sir, isn't it the same ring Marvolo Gaunt showed Ogden?" Dumbledore bowed his head.

"The very same."

"But how come — ? Have you always had it?"

"No, I acquired it very recently," said Dumbledore. "A few days before I came to fetch Harry from his aunt and uncle's, in fact."

"That would be around the time you injured your hand, then, sir?"

"Around that time, yes, Christina." Christina hesitated. Dumbledore was smiling.

"Sir, how exactly — ?"

"Too late, Christina! You shall hear the story another time. Good night."

"Good night, sir."


	9. Chapter 9: Quidditch Year 6

As Hermione had predicted, the sixth years' free periods were not the hours of blissful relaxation Ron had anticipated, but times in which to attempt to keep up with the vast amount of homework they were being set. Not only were they studying as though they had exams every day, but the lessons themselves had become more demanding than ever before. Christina barely understood half of what Professor McGonagall said to them these days; even Hermione had had to ask her to repeat instructions once or twice. Incredibly, and to Hermione's increasing resentment, Christina's best subject had suddenly become Potions, thanks to Harry and thanks to the Half-Blood Prince. Nonverbal spells were now expected, not only in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but in Charms and Transfiguration too. Christina frequently looked over at her classmates in the common room or at mealtimes to see them purple in the face and straining as though they had overdosed on U-No-Poo; but she knew that they were really struggling to make spells work without saying incantations aloud.

One result of their enormous workload and the frantic hours of practicing nonverbal spells was that Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had so far been unable to find time to go and visit Hagrid. He had stopped coming to meals at the staff table, an ominous sign, and on the few occasions when they had passed him in the corridors or out in the grounds, he had mysteriously failed to notice them or hear their greetings.

"We've got to go and explain," said Hermione, looking up at Hagrid's huge empty chair at the staff table the following Saturday at breakfast.

"We've got Quidditch tryouts this morning!" said Ron. "And we're supposed to be practicing that Aguamenti Charm from Flitwick! Anyway, explain what? How are we going to tell him we hated his stupid subject?"

"We didn't hate it!" said Hermione.

"Speak for yourself, I haven't forgotten the skrewts," said Christina darkly. She had the furthest relationship from Hagrid and didn't particularly care that Hagrid was ignoring them.

"And I'm telling you now, we've had a narrow escape. You didn't hear him going on about his gormless brother — we'd have been teaching Grawp how to tie his shoelaces if we'd stayed." Ron added.

"I hate not talking to Hagrid," said Hermione, looking upset.

"We'll go down after Quidditch," Harry assured her. Christina sighed, like Ron she thought that they were better off without Grawp in their lives.

"But trials might take all morning, the number of people who have applied." Said Harry, Christina felt slightly nervous at the thought of Harry running trials.

"I dunno why the team's this popular all of a sudden." Said Christina.

"Oh, come on, Christina," said Hermione, suddenly impatient. "It's not Quidditch that's popular, it's you and Harry! You've never been more interesting, and frankly, you've never been more fanciable." Ron gagged on a large piece of kipper. Hermione spared him one look of disdain before turning back to Christina and Harry.

"Everyone knows you've been telling the truth now, don't they? The whole Wizarding world has had to admit that you were right about Voldemort being back and that you really have fought him twice in the last two years and escaped both times. And now they're calling you two 'the Chosen Ones' — well, come on, can't you see why people are fascinated by you?" Christina was finding the Great Hall very hot all of a sudden, even though the ceiling still looked cold and rainy. She wondered what Fred would've thought about Hermione using the term 'fanciable' . . .

"And you've been through all that persecution from the Ministry when they were trying to make out you were unstable and a liar. You can still see the marks on the back of your hand where that evil woman made you write with your own blood, but you stuck to your story anyway. . . ."

"You can still see where those brains got hold of me in the Ministry, look," said Ron, shaking back his sleeves. Christina still looked at Hermione like she was crazy.

"Well, Christina, you know how when someone's taken, all the sudden they're the person everyone wants to be with? And it doesn't hurt that you've grown about a foot over the summer either, Harry" Hermione finished, ignoring Ron.

"I'm tall," said Ron inconsequentially. The post owls arrived, swooping down through rain-flecked windows, scattering everyone with droplets of water. Most people were receiving more post than usual; anxious parents were keen to hear from their children and to reassure them, in turn, that all was well at home.

Christina had received no mail since the start of term; she had hoped that Lupin might write occasionally, she had so far, as usual, been disappointed. She was very surprised, therefore, to see her odd blue owl circling amongst all the brown and gray owls. She landed in front of Christina carrying a large, square package. A moment later, Harry and Ron received packages as well, although sized different than hers. Christina waited to open hers.

"Ha!" said Harry, unwrapping the parcel to reveal a new copy of Advanced Potion-Making, fresh from Flourish and Blotts.

"Oh good," said Hermione, delighted. "Now you can give that graffitied copy back."

"Are you mad?" said Harry. "I'm keeping it! Look, I've thought it out —" He pulled the old copy of Advanced Potion-Making out of his bag and tapped the cover with his wand, muttering, "Diffindo!" The cover fell off. He did the same thing with the brand-new book (Hermione looked scandalized). He then swapped the covers, tapped each, and said, "Reparo!" There sat the Prince's copy, disguised as a new book, and there sat the fresh copy from Flourish and Blotts, looking thoroughly secondhand. It was good magic, Christina thought.

"I'll give Slughorn back the new one, he can't complain, it cost nine Galleons." Hermione pressed her lips together, looking angry and disapproving. Christina unwrapped her parcel, it couldn't be new spellbooks . . . She opened the box to find a letter and an orange pygmy puff cooing at her. She picked up the puff and laughed, _Fred._ She opened the letter:

 _Christina—_

 _Whatever you name him, it has to be something ridiculous and adorable. Send me your choice by letter. What's it like to open a package knowing Umbridge hasn't already seen its contents? Thrilling I bet . . . business is booming as usual. Fingers crossed it stays that way. Haven't been home once since you left . . . is it too early to start a Christmas countdown? I miss you, I take back what I said, drop out of school and join me . . . joking of course . . . sort of. What's Dumbledore got you up to? Punched anyone lately? I hope so, otherwise wedding is off. Joking again . . . can't sell these jokes in a shop, or maybe you can? Will let you know the price of those jokes once I manufacture more. Should go, people need someone to ask ridiculous questions to._

 _All my love,_

 _Fred_

Christina wiped away a tear. She missed Fred so much, it hurt to even think about. Christina folded the note and placed it in her pocket and turned to Hermione who was scanning her weekly copy of the Daily Prophet.

"Anyone we know dead?" asked Ron in a determinedly casual voice; he posed the same question every time Hermione opened her paper.

"No, but there have been more dementor attacks," said Hermione. "And an arrest."

"Excellent, who?" said Christina, thinking of Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Stan Shunpike," said Hermione.

"What?" said Harry, startled.

" 'Stanley Shunpike, conductor on the popular Wizarding conveyance the Knight Bus, has been arrested on suspicion of Death Eater activity. Mr. Shunpike, 24, was taken into custody late last night after a raid on his Clapham home . . .' "

"Stan Shunpike, a Death Eater?" said Christina, remembering the spotty youth she had first met three years before. "No way!"

"He might have been put under the Imperius Curse," said Ron reasonably. "You never can tell."

"It doesn't look like it," said Hermione, who was still reading. "It says here he was arrested after he was overheard talking about the Death Eaters' secret plans in a pub." She looked up with a troubled expression on her face. "If he was under the Imperius Curse, he'd hardly stand around gossiping about their plans, would he?"

"It sounds like he was trying to make out he knew more than he did," said Ron. "Isn't he the one who claimed he was going to become Minister of Magic when he was trying to chat up those veela?"

"Yeah, that's him," said Harry. "I dunno what they're playing at, taking Stan seriously."

"They probably want to look as though they're doing something," said Hermione, frowning. "People are terrified — you know the Patil twins' parents want them to go home? And Eloise Midgen has already been withdrawn. Her father picked her up last night."

"What!" said Ron, goggling at Hermione. "But Hogwarts is safer than their homes, bound to be! We've got Aurors, and all those extra protective spells, and we've got Dumbledore!"

"I don't think we've got him all the time," said Hermione very quietly, glancing toward the staff table over the top of the Prophet. "Haven't you noticed? His seat's been empty as often as Hagrid's this past week." Christina, Harry and Ron looked up at the staff table. The headmaster's chair was indeed empty. Now Christina came to think of it, she had not seen Dumbledore since their private lesson a week ago.

"I think he's left the school to do something with the Order," said Hermione in a low voice. "I mean . . . it's all looking serious, isn't it?" Christina, Harry and Ron did not answer, but Christina knew that they were all thinking the same thing. There had been a horrible incident the day before, when Hannah Abbott had been taken out of Herbology to be told her mother had been found dead. They had not seen Hannah since. When they left the Gryffindor table five minutes later to head down to the Quidditch pitch, they passed Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. Remembering what Hermione had said about the Patil twins' parents wanting them to leave Hogwarts, Christina was unsurprised to see that the two best friends were whispering together, looking distressed. What did surprise her was that when Ron drew level with them, Parvati suddenly nudged Lavender, who looked around and gave Ron a wide smile. Ron blinked at her, then returned the smile uncertainly. His walk instantly became something more like a strut. Christina laughed and nudged Hermione who looked cold and distant all the way down to the stadium through the cool, misty drizzle, and departed to find a place in the stands without wishing Ron good luck.

The trials took most of the morning. Half of Gryffindor House seemed to have turned up, from first years who were nervously clutching a selection of the dreadful old school brooms, to seventh years who towered over the rest, looking coolly intimidating. The latter included a large, wiry-haired boy Christina recognized immediately from the Hogwarts Express.

"We met on the train, in old Sluggy's compartment," he said confidently, stepping out of the crowd to shake Harry's hand. "Cormac McLaggen, Keeper."

"You didn't try out last year, did you?" asked Harry. Christina taking note of the breadth of McLaggen and thinking that he would probably block all three goal hoops without even moving.

"I was in the hospital wing when they held the trials," said McLaggen, with something of a swagger. "Ate a pound of doxy eggs for a bet."

"Right," said Harry. "Well . . . if you wait over there . . ." He pointed over to the edge of the pitch, close to where Hermione was sitting. He thought he saw a flicker of annoyance pass over McLaggen's face and wondered whether McLaggen expected preferential treatment because they were both "old Sluggy's" favorites.

Harry decided to start with a basic test, asking all applicants for the team to divide into groups of ten and fly once around the pitch. This was a good decision: The first ten was made up of first years and it could not have been plainer that they had hardly ever flown before. Only one boy managed to remain airborne for more than a few seconds, and he was so surprised he promptly crashed into one of the goal posts. The second group was comprised of ten of the silliest girls Christina had ever encountered, who, when Harry blew his whistle, merely fell about giggling and clutching one another. Romilda Vane was amongst them. When he told them to leave the pitch, they did so quite cheerfully and went to sit in the stands to heckle everyone else. The third group had a pileup halfway around the pitch. Most of the fourth group had come without broomsticks. The fifth group were Hufflepuffs.

"If there's anyone else here who's not from Gryffindor," roared Harry, who was starting to get seriously annoyed, "leave now, please!" There was a pause, then a couple of little Ravenclaws went sprinting off the pitch, snorting with laughter. After two hours, many complaints, and several tantrums, one involving a crashed Comet Two Sixty and several broken teeth, the team had found itself three Chasers: Christina, an obvious shoe-in Christina thought, Katie Bell, returned to the team after an excellent trial; and Ginny Weasley, who had outflown all the competition and scored seventeen goals to boot.

Harry had also shouted himself hoarse at the many complainers and was now enduring a similar battle with the rejected Beaters.

"That's my final decision and if you don't get out of the way for the Keepers I'll hex you," he bellowed. Neither of his chosen Beaters had the old brilliance of Fred and George, but Christina thought they were alright: Jimmy Peakes, a short but broad-chested third-year boy who had managed to raise a lump the size of an egg on the back of Harry's head with a ferociously hit Bludger, and Ritchie Coote, who looked weedy but aimed well. They now joined Christina, Katie, and Ginny in the stands to watch the selection of their last team member.

"This should be good." Ginny mumbled to Christina for Ron was going to be trying out again for Keeper. As each Keeper flew up to the goal hoops, the crowd roared and jeered in equal measure. Christina glanced over at Ron, who had always had a problem with nerves; Christina had hoped that winning their final match last term might have cured it, but apparently not: Ron was a delicate shade of green. None of the first five applicants saved more than two goals apiece. However, Cormac McLaggen saved four penalties out of five. On the last one, however, he shot off in completely the wrong direction; the crowd laughed and booed and McLaggen returned to the ground grinding his teeth. Christina turned to Hermione confused but suddenly realized what happened when she stowed away her wand. Ron looked ready to pass out as he mounted his Cleansweep Eleven.

"Good luck!" cried a voice from behind Christina. Christina turned around to see Lavender Brown. Ron then saved one, two, three, four, five penalties in a row. Christina headed down to meet Harry gleefully on the pitch to watch McLaggen storm off.

"Well done," he croaked. "You flew really well —"

"You did brilliantly, Ron!" This time it really was Hermione running toward them from the stands; Christina saw Lavender walking off the pitch, arm in arm with Parvati, a rather grumpy expression on her face. Ron looked extremely pleased with himself and even taller than usual as he grinned at the team and at Hermione.

After fixing the time of their first full practice for the following Thursday, Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione bade good-bye to the rest of the team and headed off toward Hagrid's. A watery sun was trying to break through the clouds now and it had stopped drizzling at last. Christina felt extremely hungry; she hoped there would be something to eat at Hagrid's.

"I thought I was going to miss that fourth penalty," Ron was saying happily. "Tricky shot from Katie, did you see, had a bit of spin on it —"

"Yes, yes, you were magnificent," said Hermione, looking amused.

"I was better than that McLaggen anyway," said Ron in a highly satisfied voice. "Did you see him lumbering off in the wrong direction on his fifth? Looked like he'd been Confunded. . . ."

"Fancy that, it _did_ look like he was confunded!" Hermione hit Christina's arm as she laughed. Ron noticed nothing; he was too busy describing each of his other penalties in loving detail. The great gray hippogriff, Buckbeak, was tethered in front of Hagrid's cabin. He clicked his razor-sharp beak at their approach and turned his huge head toward them.

"Oh dear," said Hermione nervously. "He's still a bit scary, isn't he?"

"Come off it, you've ridden him, haven't you?" said Ron. Harry stepped forward and bowed low to the hippogriff without breaking eye contact or blinking. After a few seconds, Buckbeak sank into a bow too. Harry started talking to Buckbeak in a low voice, moving forward to stroke the feathery head.

"Oi!" said a loud voice. Hagrid had come striding around the corner of his cabin wearing a large flowery apron and carrying a sack of potatoes. His enormous boarhound, Fang, was at his heels; Fang gave a booming bark and bounded forward.

"Git away from him! He'll have yer fingers — oh. It's yeh lot." Fang was jumping up at Hermione and Ron, attempting to lick their ears. Hagrid stood and looked at them all for a split second, then turned and strode into his cabin, slamming the door behind him. Christina looked at Harry, gritting her teeth.

"Oh dear!" said Hermione, looking stricken.

"Don't worry about it," said Harry grimly. He walked over to the door and knocked loudly. "Hagrid! Open up, we want to talk to you!" There was no sound from within. "If you don't open the door, we'll blast it open!" Harry said, pulling out his wand.

"Harry!" said Hermione, sounding shocked. "You can't possibly —"

"Yeah, I can!" said Harry. "Stand back —" But before he could say anything else, the door flew open again as Harry had known it would, and there stood Hagrid, glowering down at him and looking, despite the flowery apron, positively alarming.

"I'm a teacher!" he roared at Harry. "A teacher, Potter! How dare yeh threaten ter break down my door!"

"I'm sorry, sir," said Harry, emphasizing the last word as he stowed his wand inside his robes. Hagrid looked stunned. "Since when have yeh called me 'sir'?"

"Since when have you called me 'Potter'?"

"Oh, very clever," growled Hagrid. "Very amusin'. That's me outsmarted, innit? All righ', come in then, yeh ungrateful little . . ." Mumbling darkly, he stood back to let them pass. Christina scurried in after Harry, unsure of what could become of this meeting.

"Well?" said Hagrid grumpily, as Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat down around his enormous wooden table, Fang laying his head immediately upon Harry's knee and drooling all over his robes. "What's this? Feelin' sorry for me? Reckon I'm lonely or summat?"

"No," said Harry at once. "We wanted to see you."

"We've missed you!" said Hermione tremulously.

"Missed me, have yeh?" snorted Hagrid. "Yeah. Righ'." He stomped around, brewing up tea in his enormous copper kettle, muttering all the while. Finally, he slammed down four bucket-sized mugs of mahogany-brown tea in front of them and a plate of his rock cakes. Christina was hungry enough even for Hagrid's cooking, and took one at once.

"Hagrid," said Hermione timidly, when he joined them at the table and started peeling his potatoes with a brutality that suggested that each tuber had done him a great personal wrong, "we really wanted to carry on with Care of Magical Creatures, you know." Hagrid gave another great snort. Christina rather thought some bogeys landed on the potatoes, and was inwardly thankful that they were not staying for dinner.

"We did!" said Hermione. "But none of us could fit it into our schedules!"

"Yeah. Righ'," said Hagrid again. There was a funny squelching sound and they all looked around: Christina cursed loudly at the large barrel standing in the corner; it was full of what looked like foot-long maggots, slimy, white, and writhing. Hermione let out a tiny shriek, and Ron leapt out of his seat.

"What are they, Hagrid?" asked Harry, trying to sound interested rather than revolted, but putting down his rock cake all the same.

"Jus' giant grubs," said Hagrid.

"And they grow into . . . ?" said Ron, looking apprehensive.

"They won' grow inter nuthin'," said Hagrid. "I got 'em ter feed ter Aragog." And without warning, he burst into tears. Christina became increasingly more uncomfortable.

"Hagrid!" cried Hermione, leaping up, hurrying around the table the long way to avoid the barrel of maggots, and putting an arm around his shaking shoulders. "What is it?"

"It's . . . him . . ." gulped Hagrid, his beetle-black eyes streaming as he mopped his face with his apron. "It's . . . Aragog. . . . I think he's dyin'. . . . He got ill over the summer an' he's not gettin' better. . . . I don' know what I'll do if he . . . if he . . . We've bin tergether so long. . . ." Hermione patted Hagrid's shoulder, looking at a complete loss for anything to say. Christina knew how she felt, she didn't even know who Aragog was.

"Is there — is there anything we can do?" Hermione asked, ignoring Ron's frantic grimaces and head-shakings.

"I don' think there is, Hermione," choked Hagrid, attempting to stem the flood of his tears. "See, the rest o' the tribe . . . Aragog's family . . . they're gettin' a bit funny now he's ill . . . bit restive . . ."

"Yeah, I think we saw a bit of that side of them," said Ron in an undertone. ". . . I don' reckon it'd be safe fer anyone but me ter go near the colony at the mo'," Hagrid finished, blowing his nose hard on his apron and looking up. "But thanks fer offerin', Hermione. . . . It means a lot. . . ." Christina didn't dare ask who Aragog or his tribe were and just let it go. After that, the atmosphere lightened considerably.

"Ar, I always knew yeh'd find it hard ter squeeze me inter yer timetables," he said gruffly, pouring them more tea. "Even if yeh applied fer Time-Turners —"

"We couldn't have done," said Hermione. "We smashed the entire stock of Ministry Time-Turners when we were there last summer. It was in the Daily Prophet."

"Ar, well then," said Hagrid. "There's no way yeh could've done it. . . . I'm sorry I've bin — yeh know — I've jus' bin worried abou' Aragog . . . an' I did wonder whether, if Professor Grubbly-Plank had bin teachin' yeh —" At which all four of them stated categorically and untruthfully that Professor Grubbly-Plank, who had substituted for Hagrid a few times, was a dreadful teacher, with the result that by the time Hagrid waved them off the premises at dusk, he looked quite cheerful.

"I'm starving," said Christina, once the door had closed behind them and they were hurrying through the dark and deserted grounds; she had abandoned the rock cake after an ominous cracking noise from one of her back teeth.

"Ah I've got that detention with Snape tonight, I haven't got much time for dinner. . . ." Harry said. Christina had nearly forgotten about Harry's detention.

As they came into the castle they spotted Cormac McLaggen entering the Great Hall. It took him two attempts to get through the doors; he ricocheted off the frame on the first attempt. Ron merely guffawed gloatingly and strode off into the Hall after him, but Harry caught Hermione's arm and held her back and Christina followed suit.

"What?" said Hermione defensively.

"If you ask me," said Harry quietly, "McLaggen looks like he was Confunded this morning. And he was standing right in front of where you were sitting." Hermione blushed. Christina ooo'd at Hermione in jest.

"Oh, all right then, I did it," she whispered. "But you should have heard the way he was talking about Ron and Ginny! Anyway, he's got a nasty temper, you saw how he reacted when he didn't get in — you wouldn't have wanted someone like that on the team."

"No," said Harry. "No, I suppose that's true. But wasn't that dishonest, Hermione?"

"I mean, you're a prefect, aren't you?" Christina poked fun at her again.

"Oh, be quiet," she snapped, as he smirked.

"What are you guys doing?" demanded Ron, reappearing in the doorway to the Great Hall and looking suspicious.

"Well!—" Christina started.

"Nothing," said Harry and Hermione together, and they all hurried after Ron. The smell of roast beef made Christina's stomach ache with hunger, but they had barely taken three steps toward the Gryffindor table when Professor Slughorn appeared in front of them, blocking their path.

"Christina, Harry, just the duo I was hoping to see!" he boomed genially, twiddling the ends of his walrus mustache and puffing out his enormous belly. "I was hoping to catch you before dinner! What do you say to a spot of supper tonight in my rooms instead? We're having a little party, just a few rising stars, I've got McLaggen coming and Zabini, the charming Melinda Bobbin — I don't know whether either of you know her? Her family owns a large chain of apothecaries — and, of course, I hope very much that Miss Granger will favor me by coming too." Slughorn made Hermione a little bow as he finished speaking. It was as though Ron was not present; Slughorn did not so much as look at him.

"I can't come, Professor," said Harry at once. "I've got a detention with Professor Snape."

"Oh dear!" said Slughorn, his face falling comically. "Dear, dear, I was counting on you, Harry! Well, now, I'll just have to have a word with Severus and explain the situation. I'm sure I'll be able to persuade him to postpone your detention. Yes, I'll see you three later!" He bustled away out of the Hall.

"He's got no chance of persuading Snape," said Harry, the moment Slughorn was out of earshot. "This detention's already been postponed once; Snape did it for Dumbledore, but he won't do it for anyone else."

"Oh, I wish you could come, Christina what are we in for?" said Hermione anxiously.

"Well if Ginny's invited we'll have nothing to worry about in terms of entertainment." Christina joked.

After dinner they made their way back to Gryffindor Tower. The common room was very crowded, as most people had finished dinner by now, but they managed to find a free table and sat down; Ron, who had been in a bad mood ever since the encounter with Slughorn, folded his arms and frowned at the ceiling. Hermione reached out for a copy of the Evening Prophet, which somebody had left abandoned on a chair.

"Anything new?" said Christina.

"Not really . . ." Hermione had opened the newspaper and was scanning the inside pages. "Oh, look, your dad's in here, Ron — he's all right!" she added quickly, for Ron had looked around in alarm. "It just says he's been to visit the Malfoys' house. 'This second search of the Death Eater's residence does not seem to have yielded any results. Arthur Weasley of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects said that his team had been acting upon a confidential tip-off.' "

"Yeah, mine!" said Harry. "I told him at King's Cross about Malfoy and that thing he was trying to get Borgin to fix! Well, if it's not at their house, he must have brought whatever it is to Hogwarts with him —"

"But how can he have done, Harry?" said Hermione, putting down the newspaper with a surprised look.

"We were all searched when we arrived, weren't we?"

"I was with Malfoy, we were all searched Harry." said Christina.

"Were you?" said Harry, taken aback. "I wasn't!"

"Filch ran over all of us with Secrecy Sensors when we got into the entrance hall. Any Dark object would have been found, I know for a fact Crabbe had a shrunken head confiscated. So you see, Malfoy can't have brought in anything dangerous"

"Someone's sent it to him by owl, then," he said. "His mother or someone."

"All the owls are being checked too," said Hermione. "Filch told us so when he was jabbing those Secrecy Sensors everywhere he could reach." Really stumped this time, Harry found nothing else to say. Christina tried to think of a way but there did not seem to be any way Malfoy could have brought a dangerous or Dark object into the school. Harry tried Ron.

"Can you think of any way Malfoy — ?"

"Oh, drop it, Harry," said Ron.

"Listen, it's not my fault Slughorn invited Hermione, Christina and me to his stupid party, none of us wanted to go, you know!" said Harry, firing up.

"Well, as I'm not invited to any parties," said Ron, getting to his feet again, "I think I'll go to bed." He stomped off toward the door to the boys' dormitories, leaving Christina, Harry and Hermione staring after him.

"Harry?" said the new Chaser, Katie Bell, appearing suddenly at his shoulder. "I've got a message for you."

"From Professor Slughorn?" asked Harry, sitting up hopefully.

"No . . . from Professor Snape," said Katie. "He says you're to come to his office at half past eight tonight to do your detention — er — no matter how many party invitations you've received. And he wanted you to know you'll be sorting out rotten flobberworms from good ones, to use in Potions and — and he says there's no need to bring protective gloves."

"Right," said Harry grimly. "Thanks a lot, Katie."


	10. Chapter 10: Bell

Where was Dumbledore, and what was he doing? Christina caught sight of the headmaster only twice over the next few weeks. He rarely appeared at meals anymore, and Christina was sure Hermione was right in thinking that he was leaving the school for days at a time. Had Dumbledore forgotten the lessons he was supposed to be giving Christina and Harry? Dumbledore had said that the lessons were leading to something to do with the prophecy; Christina had felt bolstered, comforted, and now she felt slightly abandoned. The only thing to comfort her was her new frequent pen pal Fred Weasley and her ridiculously named pygmy puff: Lester Macmillian Corn Wallace the Third.

Halfway through October came their first trip of the term to Hogsmeade. Christina had wondered whether these trips would still be allowed, given the increasingly tight security measures around the school, but was pleased to know that they were going ahead; it was always good to get out of the castle grounds for a few hours.

Christina woke early on the morning of the trip, which was proving stormy, and whiled away the time until breakfast by writing back to Fred and mailing the letter via the Owlery only moments later. She met up with Harry, Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall soon after.

". . . and then there was another flash of light and I landed on the bed again!" Ron grinned, helping himself to sausages.

"What'd I miss?" Christina smiled taking a seat.

"Using more of the Prince's spells this morning, this time on Ron." Said Harry. Harry had already attempted a few of the Prince's self-invented spells around Christina and the others. There had been a hex that caused toenails to grow alarmingly fast (he had tried this on Crabbe in the corridor, with very entertaining results); a jinx that glued the tongue to the roof of the mouth (which he had twice used, to general applause, on an unsuspecting Argus Filch); and, perhaps most useful of all, Muffliato, a spell that filled the ears of anyone nearby with an unidentifiable buzzing, so that lengthy conversations could be held in class without being overheard. The only person who did not find these charms amusing was Hermione, who maintained a rigidly disapproving expression throughout and refused to talk at all if Harry had used the Muffliato spell on anyone in the vicinity.

"Oh no, what happened?" she asked, helping herself to food.

"Harry flipped me upside down!" Hermione had not cracked a smile during this anecdote, and now turned an expression of wintry disapproval upon Harry.

"So you just decided to try out an unknown, handwritten incantation and see what would happen?"

"Why does it matter if it's handwritten?" said Harry, clearly ignoring the rest of the question.

"Because it's probably not Ministry of Magic–approved," said Hermione. "And also," she added, as Christina, Harry and Ron rolled their eyes, "because I'm starting to think this Prince character was a bit dodgy." Both Harry and Ron shouted her down at once.

"It was a laugh!" said Ron, upending a ketchup bottle over his sausages. "Just a laugh, Hermione, that's all!"

"Dangling people upside down by the ankle?" said Hermione. "Who puts their time and energy into making up spells like that?"

"Fred and George," said Christina, shrugging, "I can definitely see them sells tricks like that in their shop! Harry's dad used that spell!"

"What?" said Harry, Ron and Hermione together.

"His dad used that spell," said Christina. "I — Lupin told me." This last part was not true; in fact, Christina had seen Harry's father use the spell on Snape, but she had never told Harry, Ron and Hermione about that particular excursion into the Pensieve. Now, however, a wonderful possibility occurred to her. Could the Half-Blood Prince possibly be — ?

"Maybe your dad did use it, Harry," said Hermione, "but he's not the only one. We've seen a whole bunch of people use it, in case you've forgotten. Dangling people in the air. Making them float along, asleep, helpless." Christina stared at her. With a sinking feeling, she too remembered the behavior of the Death Eaters at the Quidditch World Cup. Ron came to aid.

"That was different," he said robustly. "They were abusing it. Harry and his dad were just having a laugh. You don't like the Prince, Hermione," he added, pointing a sausage at her sternly, "because he's better than you at Potions —"

"It's got nothing to do with that!" said Hermione, her cheeks reddening. "I just think it's very irresponsible to start performing spells when you don't even know what they're for, and stop talking about 'the Prince' as if it's his title, I bet it's just a stupid nickname, and it doesn't seem as though he was a very nice person to me!"

"I don't see where you get that from," said Harry heatedly. "If he'd been a budding Death Eater he wouldn't have been boasting about being 'half-blood,' would he?" The second he said it, Christina remembered that Harry's father had been pure-blood. . . .

"The Death Eaters can't all be pure-blood, there aren't enough pure-blood wizards left," said Hermione stubbornly. "I expect most of them are half-bloods pretending to be pure. It's only Muggleborns they hate, they'd be quite happy to let you all join up."

"There is no way they'd let me be a Death Eater!" said Ron indignantly, a bit of sausage flying off the fork he was now brandishing at Hermione and hitting Ernie Macmillan on the head. "My whole family are blood traitors! That's as bad as Muggle-borns to Death Eaters!"

"And they'd love to have me," said Christina sarcastically. "We'd be best pals if they didn't keep trying to do me in." This made Ron laugh; even Hermione gave a grudging smile, and a distraction arrived in the shape of Ginny.

"Hey, Harry, I'm supposed to give you this."

"Why do people only communicate with us this way?" Christina asked looking over at the parcel. It was a scroll of parchment with Harry's name written upon it in familiar thin, slanting writing.

"Thanks, Ginny . . . It's Dumbledore's next lesson!" Harry told Christina, Ron and Hermione, pulling open the parchment and quickly reading its contents.

"Monday evening, Christina you too!" Christina felt suddenly light and happy.

"Want to join us in Hogsmeade, Ginny?" Harry asked.

"I'm going with Dean — might see you there," she replied, waving at them as she left. Filch was standing at the oak front doors as usual, checking off the names of people who had permission to go into Hogsmeade. The process took even longer than normal as Filch was triplechecking everybody with his Secrecy Sensor.

"What does it matter if we're smuggling Dark stuff OUT?" demanded Ron, eyeing the long thin Secrecy Sensor with apprehension. "Surely you ought to be checking what we bring back IN?" His cheek earned him a few extra jabs with the Sensor, and he was still wincing as they stepped out into the wind and sleet. The walk into Hogsmeade was not enjoyable. Christina wrapped her scarf over her lower face; the exposed part soon felt both raw and numb. The road to the village was full of students bent double against the bitter wind. More than once Christina wondered whether they might not have had a better time in the warm common room, and when they finally reached Hogsmeade and saw that Zonko's Joke Shop had been boarded up, Christina took it as confirmation that this trip was not destined to be fun. Ron pointed, with a thickly gloved hand, toward Honeydukes, which was mercifully open, and Christina, Harry and Hermione staggered in his wake into the crowded shop.

"Thank God," shivered Ron as they were enveloped by warm, toffee-scented air. "Let's stay here all afternoon."

"Harry, Christina!" said a booming voice from behind them.

"Oh no," muttered Harry.

"Here we go," Christina braced herself. The four of them turned to see Professor Slughorn, who was wearing an enormous furry hat and an overcoat with matching fur collar, clutching a large bag of crystalized pineapple, and occupying at least a quarter of the shop.

"You two, that's three of my little suppers you've missed now!" said Slughorn, poking him genially in the chest. "It won't do, I'm determined to have you both! Miss Granger loves them, don't you?"

"Yes," said Hermione helplessly, "they're really —"

"So why don't you come along?" demanded Slughorn.

"Well, we've had Quidditch practice, Professor," said Harry, who to Christina's fortune had been scheduling practices every time Slughorn had sent them a little, violet ribbon-adorned invitation. This strategy meant that Ron was not left out, and they usually had a laugh with Ginny, imagining Hermione shut up with McLaggen and Zabini.

"Well, I certainly expect you to win your first match after all this hard work!" said Slughorn. "But a little recreation never hurt anybody. Now, how about Monday night, you can't possibly want to practice in this weather. . . ."

"We can't, Professor, we've got — er — an appointment with Professor Dumbledore that evening." Christina informed Slughorn, happy again to have a real excuse although she would've happily lied.

"Unlucky again!" cried Slughorn dramatically. "Ah, well . . . you can't evade me forever, Chosen Ones!" And with a regal wave, he waddled out of the shop, taking as little notice of Ron as though he had been a display of Cockroach Clusters.

"I can't believe you've wriggled out of another one," said Hermione, shaking her head. "They're not that bad, you know. . . . They're even quite fun sometimes. . . ." But then she caught sight of Ron's expression. "Oh, look — they've got deluxe sugar quills — those would last hours!" Glad that Hermione had changed the subject, Christina showed much more interest in the new extra-large sugar quills than she would normally have done, but Ron continued to look moody and merely shrugged when Hermione asked him where he wanted to go next.

"Let's go to the Three Broomsticks," said Harry. "It'll be warm."

They bundled their scarves back over their faces and left the sweetshop. The bitter wind was like knives on their faces after the sugary warmth of Honeydukes. The street was not very busy; nobody was lingering to chat, just hurrying toward their destinations. The exceptions were two men a little ahead of them, standing just outside the Three Broomsticks. One was very tall and thin; squinting through his rain-washed glasses Christina recognized the barman who worked in the other Hogsmeade pub, the Hog's Head. As Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione drew closer, the barman drew his cloak more tightly around his neck and walked away, leaving the shorter man to fumble with something in his arms. They were barely feet from him when Christina realized who the man was. "Mundungus!"

The squat, bandy-legged man with long, straggly, ginger hair jumped and dropped an ancient suitcase, which burst open, releasing what looked like the entire contents of a junk shop window.

"Oh, 'ello, Christina," said Mundungus Fletcher, with a most unconvincing stab at airiness. "Well, don't let me keep ya." And he began scrabbling on the ground to retrieve the contents of his suitcase with every appearance of a man eager to be gone.

"Are you selling this stuff?" asked Harry, watching Mundungus grab an assortment of grubby-looking objects from the ground.

"Oh, well, gotta scrape a living," said Mundungus.

"Gimme that!" Ron had stooped down and picked up something silver. "Hang on," Ron said slowly. "This looks familiar —"

"Thank you!" said Mundungus, snatching the goblet out of Ron's hand and stuffing it back into the case.

"Well, I'll see you all — OUCH!" Christina used the dirt from the ground to form hands that pinned Mundungus roughly to the wall. Harry stepped next to her with his wand drawn.

"Christina!" squealed Hermione.

"You took that from Sirius's house," said Chrstina, who was almost nose to nose with Mundungus and was breathing in an unpleasant smell of old tobacco and spirits. "That had the Black family crest on it."

"I — no — what — ?" spluttered Mundungus, who was slowly turning purple.

"What did you do, go back the night he died and strip the place?" snarled Harry.

"I — no —"

"Give it to me!" Harry shouted.

"Harry, you mustn't!" shrieked Hermione, as Mundungus started to turn blue. There was a bang, and Christina fell backwards. Gasping and spluttering, Mundungus seized his fallen case, then — CRACK — he Disapparated. Christina swore at the top of her voice, spinning on the spot to see where Mundungus had gone.

"COME BACK, YOU THIEVING — !"

"There's no point, Christina." Tonks had appeared out of nowhere, her mousy hair wet with sleet. "Mundungus will probably be in London by now. There's no point yelling."

"He's nicked Sirius's stuff! Nicked it!" Harry argued back.

"Yes, but still," said Tonks, who seemed perfectly untroubled by this piece of information. "You should get out of the cold." She watched them go through the door of the Three Broomsticks. The moment he was inside, Harry burst out, "He was nicking Sirius's stuff !"

"I know, Harry, but please don't shout, people are staring," whispered Hermione. "Go and sit down, I'll get you a drink." Christina and Harry were still fuming when Hermione returned to their table a few minutes later holding four bottles of butterbeer.

"Can't the Order control Mundungus?" Harry demanded of the other three in a furious whisper. "Can't they at least stop him stealing everything that's not fixed down when he's at headquarters?"

"Shh!" said Hermione desperately, looking around to make sure nobody was listening; there were a couple of warlocks sitting close by who were staring at Harry with great interest, and Zabini was lolling against a pillar not far away.

"Harry, I'd be annoyed too, I know it's your things he's stealing —" Christina gagged on her butterbeer; "What?!"

"Oh . . . yeah Dumbledore told me that it was left for me . . ." Harry said awkwardly.

"Wow, didn't even know Sirius had a will."

"I don't think he did, I think Dumbledore just –er, divvied it out." Harry finished. Christina was staring him down: angry, confused, hurt, annoying, why did Dumbledore think she didn't deserve anything of Sirius'? She was the rightful heir to the Black Family!

"I'm going to tell Dumbledore what's going on, he's the only one who scares Mundungus." Harry said, breaking Christina's glare. She rolled her eyes, everyone always said Harry was Dumbledore's favorite.

"Good idea," whispered Hermione. "Ron, what are you staring at?"

"Nothing," said Ron, hastily looking away from the bar, where barmaid Madame Rosmerta just left for the backroom.

"I expect 'nothing's' in the back getting more firewhisky," said Hermione waspishly. Ron ignored this jibe, sipping his drink in what he evidently considered to be a dignified silence. Christina was thinking about Sirius and how Dumbledore snubbed her. Hermione drummed her fingers on the table, her eyes flickering between Ron and the bar. The moment Christina drained the last drops in his bottle she said, "Shall we call it a day and go back to school, then?" The others nodded; it had not been a fun trip and the weather was getting worse the longer they stayed. Once again they drew their cloaks tightly around them, rearranged their scarves, pulled on their gloves, then followed Katie Bell and a friend out of the pub and back up the High Street.

It was a little while before Christina became aware that the voices of Katie Bell and her friend, which were being carried back to her on the wind, had become shriller and louder. Christina squinted at their indistinct figures. The two girls were having an argument about something Katie was holding in her hand.

"It's nothing to do with you, Leanne!" Christina heard Katie say. They rounded a corner in the lane, sleet coming thick and fast, blurring Christina's vision. Leanne made to grab hold of the package Katie was holding; Katie tugged it back and the package fell to the ground.

At once, Katie rose into the air, not as Snape had done in the Pensieve, suspended comically by the ankle, but gracefully, her arms outstretched, as though she was about to fly. Yet there was something wrong, something eerie. . . . Her hair was whipped around her by the fierce wind, but her eyes were closed and her face was quite empty of expression. Christina, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Leanne had all halted in their tracks, watching. Then, six feet above the ground, Katie let out a terrible scream. Her eyes flew open but whatever she could see, or whatever she was feeling, was clearly causing her terrible anguish. Christina turned to Harry, Ron and Hermione unsure of what to do. Christina looked around, making sure she didn't have spectators and then rose from the ground, lifting the dirt under her shoes to hold her up. She grabbed Katie in a bear hug and brought her back down to the ground. She screamed and screamed; Leanne started to scream too, Katie was writhing so much they could hardly hold her. Christina pegged down her arms and legs with rock holds and Katie thrashed and screamed, apparently unable to recognize any of them.

"We have to take her to someone!" Hermione shouted over the yelling. Christina then without a word kept Katie pinned down and soared upward carrying Katie. Christina flew as fast as she could but it was incredibly difficult with the wind. What on earth could have happened, and why to Katie Bell? Christina had known Katie for years and never knew her to have any problems other than missing a goal in Quidditch . . .

Christina landed on the steps of the castle to a still screaming and writing Katie, struggling against Christina's restraints. She hoped a teacher would be close by but couldn't find anyone, so she went to dissolve both herself and Katie and pelt through the walls but Katie's body wouldn't break down like hers could. There was something holding onto Katie, something inside her. This had only happened to Christina once in her life, when Harry was being possessed by Voldemort.

With a new sense of panic, she flew upwards through past the moving staircases and burst through every door she could to get to the hospital wing.

"There's something wrong with Katie!" Christina laid Katie down on a bed and Madame Pomfrey came rushing over.

"What happened?" she began strapping Katie down to the bed and rummaged through her medicine cabinet.

"I don't know, she flew up in the air and started screaming! I think," Christina paused and looked around, the only other person there was sleeping, "I think she's possessed by Voldemort" Madame Pomfrey gasped and shook her head.

"I will help her, you go and get Professor Dumbledore!" and without another word Christina went to dust and pelted through the walls to Dumbledore's office, empty. _Shit!_ Christina thought. She then left and went for the only other person she trusted, Professor McGonagall. She rematerialized herself in front of Professor McGonagall who was at her desk grading papers.

"Bataskill! You have no right-!"

"I think Katie Bell is being possessed by Voldemort! She's in the hospital wing, we can't get her to stop screaming and freaking out—" Professor McGonagall rose from her chair at once and went to the door.

"You said the hospital wing, Bataskill?"

"Yes, I can get you there quicker if you want." Christina offered, she had never transported a teacher like the way she did with herself and her friends but this was a dire situation.

"Very well then." Christina awkwardly grabbed Professor McGonagall's arm and with her natural powers broke down their bodies to soar through the walls of Hogwarts. Within seconds they were back in the hospital wing. Bodies whole again. Professor McGonagall, taken aback by the odd sensation shook her head and then rushed to Katie's bedside, she was no longer screaming but her body was still contorting violently.

"Bataskill, if you could please head back to my office and I will meet you there." Christina was shocked. "But-!"

"Please, I will handle this. My office." Christina huffed in annoyance but left again through the walls. Sitting in Professor McGonagall's office without her there was a very odd experience, almost eery. Christina tried to shut down every urge to rummage through McGonagall's things and then laughed at what Fred would say if she did. Probably be proud and then offer to prank her filing cabinets . . . About twenty minutes later, Christina was very shocked and confused to find Harry, Ron, Hermione, a still sobbing Leanne and Professor McGonagall come in.

"Well?" she said sharply. "What happened?" Haltingly, and with many pauses while she attempted to control her crying, Leanne told Professor McGonagall how Katie had gone to the bathroom in the Three Broomsticks and returned holding the unmarked package, how Katie had seemed a little odd, and how they had argued about the advisability of agreeing to deliver unknown objects, the argument culminating in the tussle over the parcel, which tore open. At this point, Leanne was so overcome, there was no getting another word out of her.

"Ohh, so . . ." Christina suddenly realized how disastrously wrong her first guess was.

"Not possession." Professor McGonagall said through pursed lips.

"Right." Christina said deflated.

"You thought she was possessed?" said Ron.

"I tried to, you know, make her body into little pieces so I could get her through the castle faster but she wouldn't budge like you didn't when . . . you know" Christina explained.

"All right," said Professor McGonagall, not unkindly, "go up to the hospital wing, please, Leanne, and get Madam Pomfrey to give you something for shock." When she had left the room, Professor McGonagall turned back to Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

"What happened when Katie touched the necklace?"

"She rose up in the air," said Harry, before Christina, Ron or Hermione could speak, "and then began to scream, and collapsed. Professor, can I see Professor Dumbledore, please?"

"He's not here I already checked." Said Christina.

"But anything you have to say about this horrible business can be said to me, I'm sure!" Harry hesitated. "I think Draco Malfoy gave Katie that necklace, Professor." Christina tightened her lips, ready for a talking to, Ron rubbed his nose in apparent embarrassment, and Hermione shuffled her feet as though quite keen to put a bit of distance between herself and Harry.

"That is a very serious accusation, Potter," said Professor McGonagall, after a shocked pause. "Do you have any proof?"

"No," said Harry, "but . . ." and he told her about following Malfoy to Borgin and Burkes and the conversation they had overheard between him and Mr. Borgin. When he had finished speaking, Professor McGonagall looked slightly confused. "Malfoy took something to Borgin and Burkes for repair?"

"No, Professor, he just wanted Borgin to tell him how to mend something, he didn't have it with him. But that's not the point, the thing is that he bought something at the same time, and I think it was that necklace —"

"You saw Malfoy leaving the shop with a similar package?"

"No, Professor, he told Borgin to keep it in the shop for him —"

"But Harry," Hermione interrupted, "Borgin asked him if he wanted to take it with him, and Malfoy said no —"

"Because he didn't want to touch it, obviously!" said Harry angrily.

"What he actually said was, 'How would I look carrying that down the street?' " said Hermione.

"Well, he would look a bit of a prat carrying a necklace," interjected Ron.

"Oh, Ron," said Hermione despairingly, "it would be all wrapped up, so he wouldn't have to touch it, and quite easy to hide inside a cloak, so nobody would see it! I think whatever he reserved at Borgin and Burkes was noisy or bulky, something he knew would draw attention to him if he carried it down the street — and in any case," she pressed on loudly, before Harry could interrupt, "I asked Borgin about the necklace, don't you remember? When I went in to try and find out what Malfoy had asked him to keep, I saw it there. And Borgin just told me the price, he didn't say it was already sold or anything —"

"Well, you were being really obvious, he realized what you were up to within about five seconds, of course he wasn't going to tell you — anyway, Malfoy could've sent off for it since —"

"That's enough!" said Professor McGonagall, as Hermione opened her mouth to retort, looking furious. "Potter, I appreciate you telling me this, but we cannot point the finger of blame at Mr. Malfoy purely because he visited the shop where this necklace might have been purchased. The same is probably true of hundreds of people —"

"— that's what I said —" muttered Ron.

"— and in any case, we have put stringent security measures in place this year. I do not believe that necklace can possibly have entered this school without our knowledge —"

"But —"

"— and what is more," said Professor McGonagall, with an air of awful finality, "Mr. Malfoy was not in Hogsmeade today." Harry gaped at her, deflating.

"How do you know, Professor?"

"Because he was doing detention with me. He has now failed to complete his Transfiguration homework twice in a row. So, thank you for telling me your suspicions, Potter," she said as she marched past them, "but I need to go up to the hospital wing now to check on Katie Bell. Good day to you all." She held open her office door. They had no choice but to file past her without another word.

"So who do you reckon Katie was supposed to give the necklace to?" asked Christina, as they climbed the stairs to the common room.

"Goodness only knows," said Hermione. "But whoever it was has had a narrow escape. No one could have opened that package without touching the necklace."

"It could've been meant for loads of people," said Harry. "Dumbledore — the Death Eaters would love to get rid of him, he must be one of their top targets. Or Slughorn — Dumbledore reckons Voldemort really wanted him and they can't be pleased that he's sided with Dumbledore. Or —"

"Or you or Christina," said Hermione, looking troubled.

"Couldn't have been," said Christina, "or Katie would've just turned around in the lane and given it to me, wouldn't she? We were behind her all the way out of the Three Broomsticks." Harry jumped in as well, "Yeah, it would have made much more sense to deliver the parcel outside Hogwarts, what with Filch searching everyone who goes in and out. I wonder why Malfoy told her to take it into the castle?"

"Harry, Malfoy wasn't in Hogsmeade!" said Hermione, actually stamping her foot in frustration.

"He must have used an accomplice, then," said Harry. "Crabbe or Goyle — or, come to think of it, another Death Eater, he'll have loads better cronies than Crabbe and Goyle now he's joined up —"

Christina, Ron and Hermione exchanged looks that plainly said There's no point arguing with him.

"Dilligrout," said Hermione firmly as they reached the Fat Lady. The portrait swung open to admit them to the common room. It was quite full and smelled of damp clothing; many people seemed to have returned from Hogsmeade early because of the bad weather. There was no buzz of fear or speculation, however: Clearly, the news of Katie's fate had not yet spread.

"It wasn't a very slick attack, really, when you stop and think about it," said Ron, casually turfing a first year out of one of the good armchairs by the fire so that he could sit down. "The curse didn't even make it into the castle. Not what you'd call foolproof."

"You're right," said Hermione, prodding Ron out of the chair with her foot and offering it to the first year again. "It wasn't very well thought-out at all."

"But since when has Malfoy been one of the world's great thinkers?" asked Harry. Christina threw a book at him, "Harry I swear to fucking god."


	11. Chapter 11: Tom Cat

Katie was removed to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries the following day, by which time the news that she had been cursed had spread all over the school, though the details were confused and nobody other than Christina, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Leanne seemed to know that Katie herself had not been the intended target.

"Oh, and Malfoy knows, of course," said Harry to Christina, Ron and Hermione, who continued their new policy of feigning deafness whenever Harry mentioned his Malfoy-Is-a-Death-Eater theory. Christina had wondered whether Dumbledore would return from wherever he had been in time for Monday night's lesson, but having had no word to the contrary, she and Harry presented themselves outside Dumbledore's office at eight o'clock, knocked, and were told to enter. There sat Dumbledore looking unusually tired; his hand was as black and burned as ever, but he smiled when he gestured to Christina and Harry to sit down. Christina had not forgotten that Dumbledore neglected to tell her that Harry had been gifted Sirius' childhood home, and was ready for an explanation. The Pensieve was sitting on the desk again, casting silvery specks of light over the ceiling.

"You have had a busy time while I have been away," Dumbledore said. "I believe you witnessed Katie's accident."

"Yes, sir. How is she?"

"Still very unwell, although she was relatively lucky. She appears to have brushed the necklace with the smallest possible amount of skin: There was a tiny hole in her glove. Had she put it on, had she even held it in her ungloved hand, she would have died, perhaps instantly. Luckily Professor Snape was able to do enough to prevent a rapid spread of the curse —"

"Why him?" asked Harry quickly. "Why not Madam Pomfrey?"

"Impertinent," said a soft voice from one of the portraits on the wall, and Phineas Nigellus Black, Sirius's great-great-grandfather, raised his head from his arms where he had appeared to be sleeping. "I would not have permitted a student to question the way Hogwarts operated in my day."

"Yes, thank you, Phineas," said Dumbledore quellingly. "Professor Snape knows much more about the Dark Arts than Madam Pomfrey, Harry. Anyway, the St. Mungo's staff are sending me hourly reports, and I am hopeful that Katie will make a full recovery in time."

"Hold on, this isn't about Katie. Harry told me you gave him Sirius' house?" Christina tried very hard not to sound accusing and erratic but she could hardly contain herself.

"That is correct." Dumbledore said calmly. Christina could tell he was already trying to calm her down and it annoyed her greatly.

"Can I ask why? Was there a will? Was I even considered? You know that I'm technically-" but Christina stopped for Dumbledore held up a hand to silence her.

"I would rather not say just now," said Dumbledore. "However, I shall tell you in due course."

"What! No, we don't see you that often and Mundungus is stealing all of Sirius' stuff!"said Christina, outraged.

"Ah yes, I am already aware that Mundungus has been treating your inheritance with light-fingered contempt," said Dumbledore, frowning a little. "He has gone to ground since you accosted him outside the Three Broomsticks; I rather think he dreads facing me. However, rest assured that he will not be making away with any more of Sirius's old possessions."

"That mangy old half-blood has been stealing Black heirlooms?" said Phineas Nigellus, incensed; and he stalked out of his frame, undoubtedly to visit his portrait in number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

"I just feel . . . overlooked." Suddenly a rush of emotions came to Christina she didn't even realize she was feeling, "Harry I'm sorry but you're treating like a god at school and I'm just some freak girl who everyone is now afraid of." There was an uncomfortable silence where Harry but a hand on Christina's shoulder. She sunk lower in her seat.

"Christina, I don't even want Sirius' old place, you can have it if you want—"

"No, ugh, that's not the point. I just don't get why I wasn't even considered."

"Christina, I only thought it would be an emotional burden on you, and didn't want you to have any more reminders of his death. I knew that Harry wouldn't want to keep a house that caused Sirius so much pain but wasn't sure what you would make of it, so I gifted it to Harry." But Christina was barely listening, she had heard it all before, _we didn't want to upset you . . . we didn't want you freaking out . . . Harry seemed to be a better candidate . . ._

"Whatever." Christina folded her arms and looked out the window. The starry night sky looked just as it did the night they saved Sirius from the Dementor's Kiss . . .Dumbledore withdrew a fresh bottle of silver memories from inside his robes and uncorking it with a prod of his wand.

"Sir? Did Professor McGonagall tell you what I told her after Katie got hurt? About Draco Malfoy?" Christina rolled her eyes so far she felt they may get stuck at the back of her head.

"She told me of your suspicions, yes," said Dumbledore.

"And do you — ?"

"I shall take all appropriate measures to investigate anyone who might have had a hand in Katie's accident," said Dumbledore. "But what concerns me now, Harry, is our lesson." Christina was relieved and watched as Dumbledore poured the fresh memories into the Pensieve and began swirling the stone basin once more between his long-fingered hands.

"You will remember, I am sure, that we left the tale of Lord Voldemort's beginnings at the point where the handsome Muggle, Tom Riddle, had abandoned his witch wife, Merope, and returned to his family home in Little Hangleton. Merope was left alone in London, expecting the baby who would one day become Lord Voldemort."

"How do you know she was in London, sir?" Harry asked.

"Because of the evidence of one Caractacus Burke," said Dumbledore, "who, by an odd coincidence, helped found the very shop whence came the necklace we have just been discussing." He swilled the contents of the Pensieve as Christina had seen him swill them before, much as a gold prospector sifts for gold. Up out of the swirling, silvery mass rose a little old man revolving slowly in the Pensieve, silver as a ghost but much more solid, with a thatch of hair that completely covered his eyes.

"Yes, we acquired it in curious circumstances. It was brought in by a young witch just before Christmas, oh, many years ago now. She said she needed the gold badly, well, that much was obvious. Covered in rags and pretty far along . . . Going to have a baby, see. She said the locket had been Slytherin's. Well, we hear that sort of story all the time, 'Oh, this was Merlin's, this was, his favorite teapot,' but when I looked at it, it had his mark all right, and a few simple spells were enough to tell me the truth. Of course, that made it near enough priceless. She didn't seem to have any idea how much it was worth. Happy to get ten Galleons for it. Best bargain we ever made!" Dumbledore gave the Pensieve an extra-vigorous shake and Caractacus Burke descended back into the swirling mass of memory from whence he had come.

"He only gave her ten Galleons?" said Christina indignantly.

"Caractacus Burke was not famed for his generosity," said Dumbledore. "So we know that, near the end of her pregnancy, Merope was alone in London and in desperate need of gold, desperate enough to sell her one and only valuable possession, the locket that was one of Marvolo's treasured family heirlooms."

"But she could do magic!" said Harry impatiently. "She could have got food and everything for herself by magic, couldn't she?"

"Ah," said Dumbledore, "perhaps she could. But it is my belief — I am guessing again, but I am sure I am right — that when her husband abandoned her, Merope stopped using magic. I do not think that she wanted to be a witch any longer. Of course, it is also possible that her unrequited love and the attendant despair sapped her of her powers; that can happen. In any case, as you are about to see, Merope refused to raise her wand even to save her own life."

"She wouldn't even stay alive for her son?" Harry asked. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "Could you possibly be feeling sorry for Lord Voldemort?" Christina laughed.

"No," said Harry quickly, "but she had a choice, didn't she, not like my mother —"

"Your mother had a choice too," said Dumbledore gently. "Yes, Merope Riddle chose death in spite of a son who needed her, but do not judge her too harshly. She was greatly weakened by long suffering and she never had your mother's courage. And now, if you will stand . . ."

"Where are we going?" Harry asked, as Dumbledore joined them at the front of the desk.

"This time," said Dumbledore, "we are going to enter my memory. I think you will find it both rich in detail and satisfyingly accurate. After you . . ." Christina bent over the Pensieve; her face broke the cool surface of the memory and then she was falling through darkness again. . . . Seconds later, her feet hit firm ground; she opened her eyes and found that she, Harry and Dumbledore were standing in a bustling, old-fashioned London street.

"There I am," said Dumbledore brightly, pointing ahead of them to a tall figure crossing the road in front of a horse-drawn milk cart. This younger Albus Dumbledore's long hair and beard were auburn. Having reached their side of the street, he strode off along the pavement, drawing many curious glances due to the flamboyantly cut suit of plum velvet that he was wearing.

"Nice suit, sir," said Christina, before she could stop herself, but Dumbledore merely chuckled as they followed his younger self a short distance, finally passing through a set of iron gates into a bare courtyard that fronted a rather grim, square building surrounded by high railings. He mounted the few steps leading to the front door and knocked once. After a moment or two, the door was opened by a scruffy girl wearing an apron.

"Good afternoon. I have an appointment with a Mrs. Cole, who, I believe, is the matron here?"

"Oh," said the bewildered-looking girl, taking in Dumbledore's eccentric appearance. "Um . . . just a mo' . . . MRS. COLE!" she bellowed over her shoulder. Christina heard a distant voice shouting something in response. The girl turned back to Dumbledore.

"Come in, she's on 'er way." Dumbledore stepped into a hallway tiled in black and white; the whole place was shabby but spotlessly clean. Christina, Harry and the older Dumbledore followed. Before the front door had closed behind them, a skinny, harassed-looking woman came scurrying toward them. She had a sharp-featured face that appeared more anxious than unkind, and she was talking over her shoulder to another aproned helper as she walked toward Dumbledore.

". . . and take the iodine upstairs to Martha, Billy Stubbs has been picking his scabs and Eric Whalley's oozing all over his sheets — chicken pox on top of everything else," she said to nobody in particular, and then her eyes fell upon Dumbledore and she stopped dead in her tracks, looking as astonished as if a giraffe had just crossed her threshold.

"Good afternoon," said Dumbledore, holding out his hand. Mrs. Cole simply gaped. "My name is Albus Dumbledore. I sent you a letter requesting an appointment and you very kindly invited me here today." Mrs. Cole blinked. Apparently deciding that Dumbledore was not a hallucination, she said feebly, "Oh yes. Well — well then — you'd better come into my room. Yes." She led Dumbledore into a small room that seemed part sitting room, part office. It was as shabby as the hallway and the furniture was old and mismatched. She invited Dumbledore to sit on a rickety chair and seated herself behind a cluttered desk, eyeing him nervously.

"I am here, as I told you in my letter, to discuss Tom Riddle and arrangements for his future," said Dumbledore.

"Are you family?" asked Mrs. Cole.

"No, I am a teacher," said Dumbledore. "I have come to offer Tom a place at my school."

"What school's this, then?"

"It is called Hogwarts," said Dumbledore.

"And how come you're interested in Tom?"

"We believe he has qualities we are looking for."

"You mean he's won a scholarship? How can he have done? He's never been entered for one."

"Well, his name has been down for our school since birth —"

"Who registered him? His parents?" There was no doubt that Mrs. Cole was an inconveniently sharp woman. Apparently Dumbledore thought so too, for Christina now saw him slip his wand out of the pocket of his velvet suit, at the same time picking up a piece of perfectly blank paper from Mrs. Cole's desktop.

"Here," said Dumbledore, waving his wand once as he passed her the piece of paper, "I think this will make everything clear." Mrs. Cole's eyes slid out of focus and back again as she gazed intently at the blank paper for a moment.

"That seems perfectly in order," she said placidly, handing it back. Then her eyes fell upon a bottle of gin and two glasses that had certainly not been present a few seconds before. "Er — may I offer you a glass of gin?" she said in an extrarefined voice.

"Thank you very much," said Dumbledore, beaming. It soon became clear that Mrs. Cole was no novice when it came to gin drinking. Pouring both of them a generous measure, she drained her own glass in one gulp. Smacking her lips frankly, she smiled at Dumbledore for the first time, and he didn't hesitate to press his advantage.

"I was wondering whether you could tell me anything of Tom Riddle's history? I think he was born here in the orphanage?"

"That's right," said Mrs. Cole, helping herself to more gin. "I remember it clear as anything, because I'd just started here myself. New Year's Eve and bitter cold, snowing, you know. Nasty night. And this girl, not much older than I was myself at the time, came staggering up the front steps. Well, she wasn't the first. We took her in, and she had the baby within the hour. And she was dead in another hour." Mrs. Cole nodded impressively and took another generous gulp of gin.

"Did she say anything before she died?" asked Dumbledore. "Anything about the boy's father, for instance?"

"Now, as it happens, she did," said Mrs. Cole, who seemed to be rather enjoying herself now, with the gin in her hand and an eager audience for her story. "I remember she said to me, 'I hope he looks like his papa,' and I won't lie, she was right to hope it, because she was no beauty — and then she told me he was to be named Tom, for his father, and Marvolo, for her father — yes, I know, funny name, isn't it? We wondered whether she came from a circus — and she said the boy's surname was to be Riddle. And she died soon after that without another word.

"Well, we named him just as she'd said, it seemed so important to the poor girl, but no Tom nor Marvolo nor any kind of Riddle ever came looking for him, nor any family at all, so he stayed in the orphanage and he's been here ever since." Mrs. Cole helped herself, almost absentmindedly, to another healthy measure of gin. Two pink spots had appeared high on her cheekbones. Then she said, "He's a funny boy."

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "I thought he might be."

"He was a funny baby too. He hardly ever cried, you know. And then, when he got a little older, he was . . . odd."

"Odd in what way?" asked Dumbledore gently.

"Well, he —" But Mrs. Cole pulled up short, and there was nothing blurry or vague about the inquisitorial glance she shot Dumbledore over her gin glass. "He's definitely got a place at your school, you say?"

"Definitely," said Dumbledore.

"And nothing I say can change that?"

"Nothing," said Dumbledore.

"You'll be taking him away, whatever?"

"Whatever," repeated Dumbledore gravely. She squinted at him as though deciding whether or not to trust him. Apparently she decided she could, because she said in a sudden rush, "He scares the other children."

"You mean he is a bully?" asked Dumbledore.

"I think he must be," said Mrs. Cole, frowning slightly, "but it's very hard to catch him at it. There have been incidents. . . . Nasty things . . ." Dumbledore did not press her, though Christina could tell that he was interested. She took yet another gulp of gin and her rosy cheeks grew rosier still. "Billy Stubbs's rabbit . . . well, Tom said he didn't do it and I don't see how he could have done, but even so, it didn't hang itself from the rafters, did it?"

"I shouldn't think so, no," said Dumbledore quietly.

"But I'm jiggered if I know how he got up there to do it. All I know is he and Billy had argued the day before. And then" — Mrs. Cole took another swig of gin, slopping a little over her chin this time — "on the summer outing — we take them out, you know, once a year, to the countryside or to the seaside — well, Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop were never quite right afterwards, and all we ever got out of them was that they'd gone into a cave with Tom Riddle. He swore they'd just gone exploring, but something happened in there, I'm sure of it. And, well, there have been a lot of things, funny things. . . ." She looked around at Dumbledore again, and though her cheeks were flushed, her gaze was steady.

"I don't think many people will be sorry to see the back of him."

"You understand, I'm sure, that we will not be keeping him permanently?" said Dumbledore. "He will have to return here, at the very least, every summer."

"Oh, well, that's better than a whack on the nose with a rusty poker," said Mrs. Cole with a slight hiccup. She got to her feet, and Christina was impressed to see that she was quite steady, even though two-thirds of the gin was now gone.

"I suppose you'd like to see him?"

"Very much," said Dumbledore, rising too. She led him out of her office and up the stone stairs, calling out instructions and admonitions to helpers and children as she passed. The orphans, Christina saw, were all wearing the same kind of grayish tunic. They looked reasonably well-cared for, but there was no denying that this was a grim place in which to grow up.

"Here we are," said Mrs. Cole, as they turned off the second landing and stopped outside the first door in a long corridor. She knocked twice and entered.

"Tom? You've got a visitor. This is Mr. Dumberton — sorry, Dunderbore. He's come to tell you — well, I'll let him do it." Christina, Harry and the two Dumbledores entered the room, and Mrs. Cole closed the door on them. It was a small bare room with nothing in it except an old wardrobe, a wooden chair, and an iron bedstead. A boy was sitting on top of the gray blankets, his legs stretched out in front of him, holding a book. There was no trace of the Gaunts in Tom Riddle's face. Merope had got her dying wish: He was his handsome father in miniature, tall for eleven years old, dark-haired, and pale. His eyes narrowed slightly as he took in Dumbledore's eccentric appearance. There was a moment's silence.

"How do you do, Tom?" said Dumbledore, walking forward and holding out his hand. The boy hesitated, then took it, and they shook hands. Dumbledore drew up the hard wooden chair beside Riddle, so that the pair of them looked rather like a hospital patient and visitor.

"I am Professor Dumbledore."

" 'Professor'?" repeated Riddle. He looked wary. "Is that like 'doctor'? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at me?" He was pointing at the door through which Mrs. Cole had just left.

"No, no," said Dumbledore, smiling.

"I don't believe you," said Riddle. "She wants me looked at, doesn't she? Tell the truth!" He spoke the last three words with a ringing force that was almost shocking. It was a command, and it sounded as though he had given it many times before. His eyes had widened and he was glaring at Dumbledore, who made no response except to continue smiling pleasantly. After a few seconds Riddle stopped glaring, though he looked, if anything, warier still.

"Who are you?"

"I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school — your new school, if you would like to come." Riddle's reaction to this was most surprising. He leapt from the bed and backed away from Dumbledore, looking furious.

"You can't kid me! The asylum, that's where you're from, isn't it? 'Professor,' yes, of course — well, I'm not going, see? That old cat's the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they'll tell you!"

"I am not from the asylum," said Dumbledore patiently. "I am a teacher and, if you will sit down calmly, I shall tell you about Hogwarts. Of course, if you would rather not come to the school, nobody will force you —"

"I'd like to see them try," sneered Riddle.

"Hogwarts," Dumbledore went on, as though he had not heard Riddle's last words, "is a school for people with special abilities —"

"I'm not mad!"

"I know that you are not mad. Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic." There was silence. Riddle had frozen, his face expressionless, but his eyes were flickering back and forth between each of Dumbledore's, as though trying to catch one of them lying.

"Magic?" he repeated in a whisper.

"That's right," said Dumbledore.

"It's . . . it's magic, what I can do?"

"What is it that you can do?"

"All sorts," breathed Riddle. A flush of excitement was rising up his neck into his hollow cheeks; he looked fevered. "I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to." His legs were trembling. He stumbled forward and sat down on the bed again, staring at his hands, his head bowed as though in prayer.

"I knew I was different," he whispered to his own quivering fingers. "I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something."

"Well, you were quite right," said Dumbledore, who was no longer smiling, but watching Riddle intently. "You are a wizard." Riddle lifted his head. His face was transfigured: There was a wild happiness upon it, yet for some reason it did not make him better looking; on the contrary, his finely carved features seemed somehow rougher, his expression almost bestial.

"Are you a wizard too?"

"Yes, I am."

"Prove it," said Riddle at once, in the same commanding tone he had used when he had said, "Tell the truth." Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.

"If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts —"

"Of course I am!"

"Then you will address me as 'Professor' or 'sir.' " Riddle's expression hardened for the most fleeting moment before he said, in an unrecognizably polite voice, "I'm sorry, sir. I meant — please, Professor, could you show me — ?" Christina was sure that Dumbledore was going to refuse, that he would tell Riddle there would be plenty of time for practical demonstrations at Hogwarts, that they were currently in a building full of Muggles and must therefore be cautious. To his great surprise, however, Dumbledore drew his wand from an inside pocket of his suit jacket, pointed it at the shabby wardrobe in the corner, and gave the wand a casual flick. The wardrobe burst into flames. Riddle jumped to his feet; Christina could hardly blame him for howling in shock and rage; all his worldly possessions must be in there. But even as Riddle rounded on Dumbledore, the flames vanished, leaving the wardrobe completely undamaged. Riddle stared from the wardrobe to Dumbledore; then, his expression greedy, he pointed at the wand.

"Where can I get one of them?"

"All in good time," said Dumbledore. "I think there is something trying to get out of your wardrobe." And sure enough, a faint rattling could be heard from inside it. For the first time, Riddle looked frightened.

"Open the door," said Dumbledore. Riddle hesitated, then crossed the room and threw open the wardrobe door. On the topmost shelf, above a rail of threadbare clothes, a small cardboard box was shaking and rattling as though there were several frantic mice trapped inside it.

"Take it out," said Dumbledore. Riddle took down the quaking box. He looked unnerved.

"Is there anything in that box that you ought not to have?" asked Dumbledore. Riddle threw Dumbledore a long, clear, calculating look.

"Yes, I suppose so, sir," he said finally, in an expressionless voice.

"Open it," said Dumbledore. Riddle took off the lid and tipped the contents onto his bed without looking at them. Christina, who had expected something much more exciting, saw a mess of small, everyday objects: a yo-yo, a silver thimble, and a tarnished mouth organ among them. Once free of the box, they stopped quivering and lay quite still upon the thin blankets.

"You will return them to their owners with your apologies," said Dumbledore calmly, putting his wand back into his jacket. "I shall know whether it has been done. And be warned: Thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts." Riddle did not look remotely abashed; he was still staring coldly and appraisingly at Dumbledore. At last he said in a colorless voice, "Yes, sir."

"At Hogwarts," Dumbledore went on, "we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it. You have — inadvertently, I am sure — been using your powers in a way that is neither taught nor tolerated at our school. You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to allow your magic to run away with you. But you should know that Hogwarts can expel students, and the Ministry of Magic — yes, there is a Ministry — will punish lawbreakers still more severely. All new wizards must accept that, in entering our world, they abide by our laws."

"Yes, sir," said Riddle again. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking; his face remained quite blank as he put the little cache of stolen objects back into the cardboard box. When he had finished, he turned to Dumbledore and said baldly, "I haven't got any money."

"That is easily remedied," said Dumbledore, drawing a leather money-pouch from his pocket. "There is a fund at Hogwarts for those who require assistance to buy books and robes. You might have to buy some of your spellbooks and so on secondhand, but —"

"Where do you buy spellbooks?" interrupted Riddle, who had taken the heavy money bag without thanking Dumbledore, and was now examining a fat gold Galleon.

"In Diagon Alley," said Dumbledore. "I have your list of books and school equipment with me. I can help you find everything —"

"You're coming with me?" asked Riddle, looking up.

"Certainly, if you —"

"I don't need you," said Riddle. "I'm used to doing things for myself, I go round London on my own all the time. How do you get to this Diagon Alley — sir?" he added, catching Dumbledore's eye. Christina thought that Dumbledore would insist upon accompanying Riddle, but once again he was surprised. Dumbledore handed Riddle the envelope containing his list of equipment, and after telling Riddle exactly how to get to the Leaky Cauldron from the orphanage, he said, "You will be able to see it, although Muggles around you — non-magical people, that is — will not. Ask for Tom the barman — easy enough to remember, as he shares your name —" Riddle gave an irritable twitch, as though trying to displace an irksome fly. "You dislike the name 'Tom'?"

"There are a lot of Toms," muttered Riddle. Then, as though he could not suppress the question, as though it burst from him in spite of himself, he asked, "Was my father a wizard? He was called Tom Riddle too, they've told me."

"I'm afraid I don't know," said Dumbledore, his voice gentle.

"My mother can't have been magic, or she wouldn't have died," said Riddle, more to himself than Dumbledore. "It must've been him. So — when I've got all my stuff — when do I come to this Hogwarts?"

"All the details are on the second piece of parchment in your envelope," said Dumbledore. "You will leave from King's Cross Station on the first of September. There is a train ticket in there too." Riddle nodded. Dumbledore got to his feet and held out his hand again. Taking it, Riddle said, "I can speak to snakes. I found out when we've been to the country on trips — they find me, they whisper to me. Is that normal for a wizard?" Christina could tell that he had withheld mention of this strangest power until that moment, determined to impress.

"It is unusual," said Dumbledore, after a moment's hesitation, "but not unheard of." His tone was casual but his eyes moved curiously over Riddle's face. They stood for a moment, man and boy, staring at each other. Then the handshake was broken; Dumbledore was at the door.

"Good-bye, Tom. I shall see you at Hogwarts."

"I think that will do," said the white-haired Dumbledore at Christina and Harry's side, and seconds later, they were soaring weightlessly through darkness once more, before landing squarely in the present-day office.

"Sit down," said Dumbledore, landing beside Christina and Harry. They obeyed, Christina's mind still full of what she had just seen.

"He believed it much quicker than I did — I mean, when you told him he was a wizard," said Harry. "I didn't believe Hagrid at first, when he told me."

"Me neither!" Christina agreed.

"Yes, Riddle was perfectly ready to believe that he was — to use his word — 'special,' " said Dumbledore.

"Did you know — then?" asked Christina.

"Did I know that I had just met the most dangerous Dark wizard of all time?" said Dumbledore. "No, I had no idea that he was to grow up to be what he is. However, I was certainly intrigued by him. I returned to Hogwarts intending to keep an eye upon him, something I should have done in any case, given that he was alone and friendless, but which, already, I felt I ought to do for others' sake as much as his.

"His powers, as you heard, were surprisingly well-developed for such a young wizard and — most interestingly and ominously of all — he had already discovered that he had some measure of control over them, and begun to use them consciously. And as you saw, they were not the random experiments typical of young wizards: He was already using magic against other people, to frighten, to punish, to control. The little stories of the strangled rabbit and the young boy and girl he lured into a cave were most suggestive. . . . 'I can make them hurt if I want to. . . .' "

"And he was a Parselmouth," interjected Harry.

"Yes, indeed; a rare ability, and one supposedly connected with the Dark Arts, although as we know, there are Parselmouths among the great and the good too. In fact, his ability to speak to serpents did not make me nearly as uneasy as his obvious instincts for cruelty, secrecy, and domination.

"Time is making fools of us again," said Dumbledore, indicating the dark sky beyond the windows. "But before we part, I want to draw your attention to certain features of the scene we have just witnessed, for they have a great bearing on the matters we shall be discussing in future meetings.

"Firstly, I hope you noticed Riddle's reaction when I mentioned that another shared his first name, 'Tom'?" Christina and Harry nodded. "There he showed his contempt for anything that tied him to other people, anything that made him ordinary. Even then, he wished to be different, separate, notorious. He shed his name, as you know, within a few short years of that conversation and created the mask of 'Lord Voldemort' behind which he has been hidden for so long.

"I trust that you also noticed that Tom Riddle was already highly self-sufficient, secretive, and, apparently, friendless? He did not want help or companionship on his trip to Diagon Alley. He preferred to operate alone. The adult Voldemort is the same. You will hear many of his Death Eaters claiming that they are in his confidence, that they alone are close to him, even understand him. They are deluded. Lord Voldemort has never had a friend, nor do I believe that he has ever wanted one.

"And lastly — I hope you are not too sleepy to pay attention to this — the young Tom Riddle liked to collect trophies. You saw the box of stolen articles he had hidden in his room. These were taken from victims of his bullying behavior, souvenirs, if you will, of particularly unpleasant bits of magic. Bear in mind this magpie-like tendency, for this, particularly, will be important later.

"And now, it really is time for bed." Christina and Harry got to their feet. As they walked across the room, Christina's eyes fell upon the little table on which Marvolo Gaunt's ring had rested last time, but the ring was no longer there.

"Yes, Christina?" said Dumbledore, for Christina had come to a halt.

"The ring's gone," said Christina, looking around. "But I thought you might have the mouth organ or something." Dumbledore beamed at him, peering over the top of his halfmoon spectacles. "Very astute, Christina, but the mouth organ was only ever a mouth organ. I wonder . . . did you notice anything else about the Orphanage, Christina?" Christina stared at Dumbledore, whose eyes were twinkling again. She couldn't think of anything particularly special about the Orphanage other than it was where Voldemort was from . . .

"You were taken there after the police found your parents." Christina's jaw dropped. She had forgotten she wasn't just placed into some home like Harry . . . "I was?"

"You were there for a year before you were adopted by a family from California." Christina's heart dropped, she knew that she had a connection with Voldemort but didn't think it ran so deep as being in the same orphanage as him. And on that enigmatic note Dumbledore waved to Christina, who understood herself to be dismissed.


	12. Chapter 12: King

Harry, Ron and Hermione had Herbology first thing the following morning so Christina had been unable to tell Ron and Hermione about Christina and Harry's first lesson. Although, Christina was sure Harry would fill them in during class. Sure enough, during lunch Christina got the highlights.

"You missed it, wasn't sure if Hermione was going to punch Ron or if Ron was going to punch Hermione." Harry whispered to Christina. Christina was sitting next to Harry while on her right was Ron and on Harry's left was Hermione, angrily reading her textbook for Ancient Runes.

"What happened?" Christina asked.

"Slughorn's Christmas party is coming up, and we have to go, he apparently even checked for our free evenings so we couldn't say no." Christina groaned.

"You're joking."

"But we get to bring a guest, why Ron was freaking out because apparently Hermione was going to ask him to go—"

"Ask him out, out?"

"Well, er, I don't know. Yes?"

"Get out . . ." Christina always knew Hermione acted weird around Ron but she didn't think Hermione would actually act on those feelings. What if Ron and Hermione started going out together, then split up? Could their friendship survive it? Christina remembered the few weeks when they had not been talking to each other in the third year; she had not enjoyed trying to bridge the distance between them. And then, what if they didn't split up? What if they became like Bill and Fleur, and it became excruciatingly embarrassing to be in their presence, so that she was shut out for good?

Although Christina watched her two friends more closely over the next few days, Ron and Hermione did not seem any different except that they were a little politer to each other than usual. Christina supposed she would just have to wait to see what happened under the influence of butterbeer in Slughorn's dimly lit room on the night of the party. In the meantime, however, she had more pressing worries. Katie Bell was still in St. Mungo's Hospital with no prospect of leaving, which meant that the promising Gryffindor team Harry had been training so carefully since September was one Chaser short. Harry kept putting off replacing Katie in the hope that she would return, but their opening match against Slytherin was looming, and he finally had to accept that she would not be back in time to play. Christina did not think Harry could stand another full-House tryout. Instead he illogically, at least to Christina, asked Dean Thomas to join the team. The others who tried out were extremely disappointed that Harry chose another sixth year but if Gryffindor won, Christina knew that the whole House would forget that they had criticized Harry and swear that they had always known it was a great team. If they lost . . . well, Harry has endured worse. . . .

Christina had no reason to resent Harry's choice once she saw Dean fly that evening; he worked well with Christina and Ginny. The Beaters, Peakes and Coote, were getting better all the time. The only problem was Ron. Christina had known all along that Ron was an inconsistent player who suffered from nerves and a lack of confidence, and unfortunately, the looming prospect of the opening game of the season seemed to have brought out all his old insecurities. After letting in half a dozen goals, most of them scored by Christina, his technique became wilder and wilder, until he finally punched an oncoming Ginny in the mouth.

"It was an accident, I'm sorry, Ginny, really sorry!" Ron shouted after her as she zigzagged back to the ground, dripping blood everywhere. "I just —"

"Panicked," Ginny said angrily examining her fat lip. "You prat, Ron, look at the state of my face!"

"I can fix that," said Harry, landing beside Ginny, pointing his wand at her mouth, and saying "Episkey." "And Ginny, don't call Ron a prat, you're not the Captain of this team —"

"Well, you seemed too busy to call him a prat and I thought someone should —" Christina forced herself not to laugh. "In the air, everyone, let's go. . . ." Harry commanded. Overall it was one of the worst practices they had had all term, though Harry did not say it.

"Good work, everyone, I think we'll flatten Slytherin," he said bracingly and the Chasers and Beaters left the changing room looking reasonably happy with themselves.

"I played like a sack of dragon dung," said Ron in a hollow voice when the door had swung shut behind Ginny.

"No, you didn't," said Harry firmly. "You're the best Keeper I tried out, Ron. Your only problem is nerves." He kept up a relentless flow of encouragement all the way back to the castle, and by the time they reached the second floor, Ron was looking marginally more cheerful. Christina was annoyed that they had to deal with Ron's nerves but he was on the team, there was nothing she could do. When Harry pushed open the tapestry to take their usual shortcut up to Gryffindor Tower, however, they found themselves looking at Dean and Ginny, who were locked in a close embrace and kissing fiercely as though glued together.

"Oi!" Ron yelled. Dean and Ginny broke apart and looked around.

"What?" said Ginny.

"I don't want to find my own sister snogging people in public!"

"This was a deserted corridor till you came butting in!" said Ginny. Dean was looking embarrassed. He gave Harry a shifty grin that Harry did not return.

"Er . . . c'mon, Ginny," said Dean, "let's go back to the common room. . . ."

"You go!" said Ginny. "I want a word with my dear brother!" Dean left, looking as though he was not sorry to depart the scene.

"Right," said Ginny, tossing her long red hair out of her face and glaring at Ron, "let's get this straight once and for all. It is none of your business who I go out with or what I do with them, Ron —"

"Yeah, it is!" said Ron, just as angrily. "D'you think I want people saying my sister's a —"

"A what?" shouted Ginny, drawing her wand. "A what, exactly?"

"He doesn't mean anything, Ginny —" said Harry. Christina with her usual awkward grimace just watched.

"Oh yes he does!" she said, flaring up at Harry. "Just because he's never snogged anyone in his life, just because the best kiss he's ever had is from our Auntie Muriel —"

"Shut your mouth!" bellowed Ron, bypassing red and turning maroon.

"No, I will not!" yelled Ginny, beside herself. "I've seen you with Phlegm, hoping she'll kiss you on the cheek every time you see her, it's pathetic! If you went out and got a bit of snogging done yourself, you wouldn't mind so much that everyone else does it!" Ron had pulled out his wand too; Christina shook her head from her paralyzing fear and stepped swiftly between them putting an arm in between both of them.

"As cool as my powers are I'd really like to not use them to separate you two." Christina said trying to ease the tension but Ron was still fired up.

"You don't know what you're talking about!" Ron roared, trying to get a clear shot at Ginny around Christina, who was now standing in front of Ginny with her arms outstretched. "Just because I don't do it in public — !" Ginny screamed with derisive laughter, trying to push Christina out of the way.

"Been kissing Pigwidgeon, have you? Or have you got a picture of Auntie Muriel stashed under your pillow?"

"You—" A streak of orange light flew from Ron's wand and something peculiar happened. Christina caught the spell . . . in a casing of castle rock. She looked at the baseball-bat shaped rock and it was now glowing orange. Christina let it drop to the ground and it exploded, the orange jet of light hitting the wall with a burst. Christina looked at Harry, Ron and Ginny who were all speechless.

"We'll discuss that later – move!" and Ron threw another spell at Ginny under Harry's left arm and missed Ginny by inches; Harry pushed Ron up against the wall. "Don't be stupid —"

"Harry's snogged Cho Chang! Christina's engaged!" shouted Ginny, who sounded close to tears now. "And Hermione snogged Viktor Krum, it's only you who acts like it's something disgusting, Ron, and that's because you've got about as much experience as a twelve-year-old!" And with that, she stormed away. Harry quickly let go of Ron; the look on his face was murderous. They stood there, breathing heavily, until Christina asked, "Quick, someone hex me I want to catch it!", which broke the tension.

"C'mon," said Harry. They hurried up the stairs and along a seventh-floor corridor.

"Oi, out of the way!" Ron barked at a small girl who jumped in fright and dropped a bottle of toadspawn.

"D'you think Hermione did snog Krum?" Ron asked abruptly, as they approached the Fat Lady.

"Yes, Ron. She almost spent the summer with him remember?" Christina didn't spare Ron's feelings, he needed it hear it more than he needed to feel good. Ron only groaned.

"Dilligrout," he said darkly to the Fat Lady, and they climbed through the portrait hole into the common room. Christina stayed with Harry and Ron for about five minutes before realizing that each boy would be absorbed in thoughts about girls and left them in the common room with their thoughts. She had a letter to write Fred anyways.

 _Dear Fred,_

 _Lester Macmillian Corn Wallace the Third says hello, we should just shorten it to . . . LMCW3. That should be a secret password to something. Only you, me, and Filch who is probably reading this will know. So, Katie Bell got cursed from a necklace that someone gave to her in the bathroom (I guess, not the worst thing you could find in a bathroom, right?) and she's deathly ill in St. Mungo's so Dean Thomas is now a chaser on the team which is not as horrible as you might think. Although Ron is fraught with jealousy that Ginny has a boyfriend and he doesn't (have a girlfriend . . . or boyfriend, no judgement). Found out I came from the same orphanage as Voldemort so . . . that's weird. Anyways, more later. Love you lots._

 _Xoxo_

 _C_

The next day Ron was now not only cold-shouldering Ginny and Dean, but also treating a hurt and bewildered Hermione with an icy, sneering indifference. Ron seemed to have become, overnight, as touchy and ready to lash out as the average Blast-Ended Skrewt. Christina spent the day watching Harry attempting to keep the peace between Ron and Hermione with no success; finally, Hermione departed for bed in high dudgeon, and Ron stalked off to the boys' dormitory after swearing angrily at several frightened first years for looking at him. To Christina's dismay, Ron's new aggression did not wear off over the next few days. Worse still, it coincided with an even deeper dip in his Keeping skills, which made him still more aggressive, so that during the final Quidditch practice before Saturday's match, he failed to save every single goal Christina and the rest of the Chasers aimed at him, but bellowed at everybody so much that Christina levitated off her broom and hit him with it.

"ENOUGH!" bellowed Harry, who soared over to intervene before things got out of hand. "Peakes, go and pack up the Bludgers. Christina, get back on your broom and change. Ron . . ." but before Harry continued he gave Christina a nod to leave and she hopped back on her broom and headed down to the lockers.

"D'you think he'll finally just quit?" Ginny asked nastily.

"Ugh, is it bad that I hope so? McLaggen was good . . ." said Christina feeling guilty. McLaggen wasn't too bad to look at either . . . Christina shook herself out of her thoughts when Harry and Ron showed up in the lockers. Neither one saying a word to anyone. Finally, when out of earshot of the others Harry pulled Christina aside on their walk back up to the castle.

"He's going to resign if we lose tomorrow." He said somberly.

"Really?" she said trying to sound sad, "Have you tried talking to him?" But nothing Harry said made any difference. He tried boosting Ron's confidence all through dinner, but Ron was too busy being grumpy and surly with Hermione to notice. Harry persisted in the common room that evening, but his assertion that the whole team would be devastated if Ron left was somewhat undermined by the fact that the rest of the team sans Christina was sitting in a huddle in a distant corner, clearly muttering about Ron and casting him nasty looks. Finally, Harry tried getting angry again in the hope of provoking Ron into a defiant, and hopefully goal-saving, attitude, but this strategy did not appear to work any better than encouragement; Ron went to bed as dejected and hopeless as ever.

"What're we going to do? He's hopeless in this state." Harry said slinking into the couch. Christina sighed. She did not want to lose to Slytherin especially after the hate they'd been getting from Malfoy but she really didn't want to have to do a song and dance every time there was a match for Ron's feelings to be boosted.

"Want me to put lead in all the Slytherin brooms?" she joked but Harry pounced on the idea.

"Could you?!" Christina laughed again, "No! People know I've got the natural powers now they'll probably think I've been cheating the past three years."

"Well . . . you have, haven't you?" she laughed again, she had.

"Yeah, but not as noticeably as making Ron save every goal." Harry sighed again. It looked as though he were about to make another point for Christina to cheat but she stopped him.

"Harry, people already think I'm the worst, can we not add cheating-to-make-her-best-friend-look-good to the list?" Harry groaned and got up.

"I'm going to bed, maybe I'll dream a solution." Christina got up too and followed him up the stairs. They bid each other goodnight and Christina walked in a sat on Hermione's bed. She was, as usual, reading.

"Hermione we're going to lose tomorrow and I want to die." Christina said dramatically falling on the bed, now laying next to Hermione. Hermione shook her head smiling.

"I'm sure you'll be fine. Weather is supposed to be good tomorrow." She said still reading.

"Ron's going to quit if we lose." This got Hermione's attention, she put down the book to look at Christina.

"But he—" but Hermione, never wanting to seem to be into Ron, stopped herself, "Well, I'm sure you'll find another Keeper." Christina watched Hermione, giving her an incredulous look to which Hermione only blushed and retorted with a "What!" Christina rolled off Hermione bed and onto her own, worrying herself to sleep over the match.

Breakfast was the usual excitable affair next morning; the Slytherins hissed and booed loudly as every member of the Gryffindor team entered the Great Hall. Christina glanced at the ceiling and saw a clear, pale blue sky: a good omen. The Gryffindor table, a solid mass of red and gold, cheered as Christina, Harry and Ron approached. Christina grinned, Harry waved; Ron grimaced weakly and shook his head.

"Cheer up, Ron!" called Lavender. "I know you'll be brilliant!" Ron ignored her.

"Tea?" Harry asked him. "Coffee? Pumpkin juice?"

"Anything," said Ron glumly, taking a moody bite of toast. A few minutes later Hermione, who had become so tired of Ron's recent unpleasant behavior that she had not come down to breakfast with them, paused on her way up the table.

"How are you all feeling?" she asked tentatively, her eyes on the back of Ron's head.

"Fine," said Harry, who was concentrating on handing Ron a glass of pumpkin juice. "There you go, Ron. Drink up." Ron had just raised the glass to his lips when Hermione spoke sharply. "Don't drink that, Ron!" Both Christina and Ron looked up at her.

"Why not?" said Ron. Hermione was now staring at Harry as though she could not believe her eyes. "You just put something in that drink."

"What!" said Christina looking at Harry.

"Excuse me?" said Harry.

"You heard me. I saw you. You just tipped something into Ron's drink. You've got the bottle in your hand right now!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Harry, stowing a little bottle hastily in his pocket. Christina couldn't believe her eyes, "Is that-?" but Harry shushed her and looked around. Ron was still clueless.

"Ron, I warn you, don't drink it!" Hermione said again, alarmed, but Ron picked up the glass, drained it in one gulp, and said, "Stop bossing me around, Hermione." She looked scandalized. Bending low so that only Christina and Harry could hear her, she hissed, "You should be expelled for that. I'd never have believed it of you, Harry!"

"Hark who's talking," he whispered back. "Confunded anyone lately?" She stormed up the table away from them. Christina hit Harry's shoulder, "You want her to hate you two? God I swear sometimes you two . . ." She then looked around at Ron, who was smacking his lips.

"Nearly time," said Harry blithely.

The frosty grass crunched underfoot as they strode down to the stadium. "Pretty lucky the weather's this good, eh?" Harry asked Ron.

"Yeah," said Ron, who was pale and sick-looking. Ginny and Dean were already wearing their Quidditch robes and waiting in the changing room.

"Conditions look ideal," said Ginny, ignoring Ron. "And guess what? That Slytherin Chaser Vaisey — he took a Bludger in the head yesterday during their practice, and he's too sore to play! And even better than that — Malfoy's gone off sick too!"

"Wait, really?" said Christina, wheeling around to stare at her. Harry looked as though he were concocting several different theories, "He's ill? What's wrong with him?"

"No idea, but it's great for us," said Ginny brightly. "They're playing Harper instead; he's in my year and he's an idiot." Christina smiled back vaguely, but as she pulled on her scarlet robes her mind was far from Quidditch. Malfoy had once before claimed he could not play due to injury, but on that occasion he had made sure the whole match was rescheduled for a time that suited the Slytherins better. Why was he now happy to let a substitute go on? Was he really ill, or was he faking?

"Fishy, isn't it?" Christina heard Harry say to Ron in an undertone. "Malfoy not playing?"

"Lucky, I call it," said Ron, looking slightly more animated. "And Vaisey off too, he's their best goal scorer, I didn't fancy — hey!" he said suddenly, freezing halfway through pulling on his Keeper's gloves and staring at Harry. "What?"

"I . . . you . . ." Ron had dropped his voice, he looked both scared and excited. "My drink . . . my pumpkin juice . . . you didn't . . . ?" Harry raised his eyebrows, but said nothing except, "We'll be starting in about five minutes, you'd better get your boots on." As Harry walked past them Ron stared at Christina who shook her head, wishing Harry had used Felix Felicis for something more important than Quidditch . . .

They walked out onto the pitch to tumultuous roars and boos. One end of the stadium was solid red and gold; the other, a sea of green and silver. Many Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws had taken sides too: Amidst all the yelling and clapping Christina could distinctly hear the roar of Luna Lovegood's famous lion-topped hat. Harry stepped up to Madam Hooch, the referee, who was standing ready to release the balls from the crate and next to her was an unlikely figure, Professor McGonagall.

"Now before we begin, if Ms. Bataskill could please come here." Christina was so shocked she almost didn't step forward thinking Madame Hooch was joking. When Christina finally did step forward, looking back and forth between Ron and Ginny for some clue as to what this was about, Madame Hooch was taking Christina's wrists.

"Am I under arrest?" Christina asked half-joking.

"No my dear, since the news of your, well, abilities, it's only fair that we make sure you can't use them for Gryffindor's advantage." And before Christina could contest Madame Hooch's words, Professor McGonagall performed the spell that placed those familiar red rings around her wrists and at that she stowed her wand and went back to the stands.

The entire school was watching what was going on and Christina had never felt more embarrassed in her life. The Slytherin team was watching her with sneers, this was definitely something asked by them, most likely perpetrated by Malfoy. Christina could feel every eye in the stands watching her as she went back to the Gryffindor team and mounted her broom as Harry took her place in front of Madam Hooch. How unlucky, she thought.

"Captains shake hands," she said, and Harry and new Slytherin Captain, Urquhart shook hands. "Mount your brooms. On the whistle . . . three . . . two . . . one . . ." The whistle sounded, Christina and the others kicked off hard from the frozen ground, and they were away. Christina felt rocky on her broom because of the rings. Stabilizing herself was one of the first things she learned to do, but Christina was a good flyer, she just wouldn't be a phenomenal one today . . .

Christina, Dean, and Ginny and split up to come at the Slytherin chasers from all sides. Then a voice that was jarringly different to the usual commentator's started up.

"Well, there they go, and I think we're all surprised to see the team that Potter's put together this year. Many thought, given Ronald Weasley's patchy performance as Keeper last year, that he might be off the team, but of course, a close personal friendship with the Captain does help. . . ." These words were greeted with jeers and applause from the Slytherin end of the pitch. Christina craned around on her broom to look toward the commentator's podium. A tall, skinny blond boy with an upturned nose was standing there, talking into the magical megaphone that had once been Lee Jordan's; Christina recognized Zacharias Smith, a Hufflepuff player whom she heartily disliked.

"Oh, and here comes Slytherin's first attempt on goal, it's Urquhart streaking down the pitch and —" Christina's stomach turned over. "— Weasley saves it, well, he's bound to get lucky sometimes, I suppose. . . ."

"Oh thank Christ," muttered Christina, relieved, as she dived amongst the Chasers snatching the quaffle from an unsuspecting Slytherin chaser. "That's Bataskill with the quaffle and as we witnessed early, she cannot cheat like she normally does. Let's see how that effects Gryffindor's chances . . ." Red faced and angry, Christina weaved in and out of bludgers and chasers and with all her might, threw the quaffle so hard at the goalposts that when their Keeper tried to catch it, it sent him and the quaffle through the goal posts.

"And it seems she's knocked him off his broom, well, we all knew she was violent . . ."

With half an hour of the game gone, Gryffindor were leading sixty points to zero, Ron having made some truly spectacular saves, some by the very tips of his gloves, and Christina having scored four of Gryffindor's six goals. This effectively stopped Zacharias wondering loudly whether the two Weasleys were only there because Harry liked them, and he started on Peakes and Coote instead.

"Of course, Coote isn't really the usual build for a Beater," said Zacharias loftily, "they've generally got a bit more muscle —"

Christina wished someone would just hit him with a bludger. However as the game went on it seemed as though Gryffindor could do no wrong. Again and again they scored, and again and again, at the other end of the pitch, Ron saved goals with apparent ease. He was actually smiling now, and when the crowd greeted a particularly good save with a rousing chorus of the old favorite "Weasley Is Our King," he pretended to conduct them from on high.

"And I think Harper of Slytherin's seen the Snitch!" said Zacharias Smith through his megaphone. "Yes, he's certainly seen something Potter hasn't!" Smith really was an idiot, thought Christina, Harry has almost never missed the snitch. Christina was riding alongside Ginny with the quaffle when a great shout went up that almost drowned the sound of the whistle that signaled the end of the game.

Christina hurled around and saw Harry triumphantly holding the golden snitch. "YES!" Christina said and turned to Ginny who was speed up past her.

"Ginny, where're you going?" yelled Christina, who was landing now next to the rest of the Gryffindor's. But Ginny sped right on past them until, with an almighty crash, she collided with the commentator's podium. As the crowd shrieked and laughed, the Gryffindor team landed beside the wreckage of wood under which Zacharias was feebly stirring; Christina heard Ginny saying blithely to an irate Professor McGonagall, "Forgot to brake, Professor, sorry." Laughing, Christina broke free of the rest of the team and held up her wrists for Professor McGonagall who at once waved her wand and they disappeared. She winked at Christina, which Christina took to be a gesture of congrats-on-not-cheating-and-still-winning.

"Party up in the common room, Seamus said!" yelled Dean exuberantly. "C'mon, Ginny, Christina!" Christina, Ron and Harry were the last ones in the changing room. They were just about to leave when Hermione entered. She was twisting her Gryffindor scarf in her hands and looked upset but determined.

"I want a word with you, Harry." She took a deep breath. "You shouldn't have done it. You heard Slughorn, it's illegal."

"What are you going to do, turn us in?" demanded Ron.

"What are you two talking about?" asked Harry, turning away to hang up his robes.

"You know perfectly well what we're talking about!" said Hermione shrilly. "You spiked Ron's juice with lucky potion at breakfast! !"

"No, I didn't," said Harry, turning back to face them both. "Yes you did, Harry, and that's why everything went right, there were Slytherin players missing and Ron saved everything!"

"I didn't put it in!" said Harry, grinning broadly. Christina just shook her head and laughed, but then he slipped his hand inside his jacket pocket and drew out the tiny bottle that Hermione had seen in his hand that morning. It was full of golden potion and the cork was still tightly sealed with wax.

"I wanted Ron to think I'd done it, so I faked it when I knew you were looking." He looked at Ron. "You saved everything because you felt lucky. You did it all yourself." He pocketed the potion again.

"There really wasn't anything in my pumpkin juice?" Ron said, astounded. "But the weather's good . . . and Vaisey couldn't play. . . . I honestly haven't been given lucky potion?" Harry shook his head. Ron gaped at him for a moment, then rounded on Hermione, imitating her voice. "You added it to Ron's juice this morning, that's why he saved everything! See! I can save goals without help, Hermione!"

"I never said you couldn't — Ron, you thought you'd been given it too!" But Ron had already strode past her out of the door with his broomstick over his shoulder.

"Er," said Christina into the sudden silence, "shall . . . shall we go up to the party, then?"

"You go!" said Hermione, blinking back tears. "I'm sick of Ron at the moment, I don't know what I'm supposed to have done. . . ." And she stormed out of the changing room too.

"Should we go after her?" Christina asked but Harry merely shook his head, "Let her fume, she's just gonna get worse if we try to help . . ."

Christina and Harry walked slowly back up the grounds toward the castle through the crowd, many of whom shouted congratulations at them, but Christina still felt the embarrassment from being outed in front of the entire school. If she ever saw Zacharias . . . At the Gryffindor celebration party, Christina could not see Hermione, which was in full swing when they arrived. Renewed cheers and clapping greeted their appearance, and they were soon surrounded by a mob of people congratulating them, well, mostly Harry. What with trying to shake off the Creevey brothers, who wanted a blow-by-blow match analysis, and the large group of girls that encircled him, laughing at his least amusing comments and batting their eyelids, Christina suddenly felt a huge rush of sadness. She had missed Fred dearly for the past two months but suddenly she felt completely alone without him. After winning a match Fred would always steal food and alcohol from the kitchens and would dance with Christina while treating people to trick sweats and pranks . . . watching everyone having a laugh, drinking, hugging friends, dancing, Christina felt so far away from everything. She wanted to leave.

As she was ducking toward the drinks table, she walked straight into Ginny, Arnold the Pygmy Puff riding on her shoulder and Crookshanks mewing hopefully at her heels.

"Looking for Ron?" she asked, smirking.

"No, I-"

"He's over there, the filthy hypocrite." Christina looked into the corner she was indicating. There, in full view of the whole room, stood Ron wrapped so closely around Lavender Brown it was hard to tell whose hands were whose.

"It looks like he's eating her face, doesn't it?" said Ginny dispassionately. "But I suppose he's got to refine his technique somehow. Good game, Christina." She patted Christina on the arm, but Christina couldn't help but notice that the back on his red head reminded her still of Fred, and with a heave pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady. The corridor outside seemed to be deserted. Christina felt tears forming in the corners of her eyes and went into the first unlocked classroom she tried.

"Hermione?" At the teacher's desk sitting was Hermione, alone except for a small ring of twittering yellow birds circling her head, which she had clearly just conjured out of midair. Christina could not help admiring her spellwork at a time like this.

"Oh, hello, Christina," she said in a brittle voice. "I was just practicing."

"Right, yeah. . . sorry to bother you . . ." said Christina. She was wondering whether there was any chance that Hermione had not noticed Ron, that she had merely left the room because the party was a little too rowdy, when she said, in an unnaturally high-pitched voice, "Ron seems to be enjoying the celebrations." Christina sighed, forgetting about her problems. "Yeah." said Christina.

"He wasn't exactly hiding it, was — ?" The door behind them burst open. To Christina's horror, Ron came in, laughing, pulling Lavender by the hand.

"Oh," he said, drawing up short at the sight of Christina and Hermione.

"Oops!" said Lavender, and she backed out of the room, giggling. Christina raised a hand and lifted a rock one by the door, slamming it shut in her face. There was a horrible, swelling, billowing silence. Hermione was staring at Ron, who refused to look at her, but said with an odd mixture of bravado and awkwardness, "Hi, Christina! Wondered where you'd got to!" Hermione slid off the desk. The little flock of golden birds continued to twitter in circles around her head so that she looked like a strange, feathery model of the solar system.

"You shouldn't leave Lavender waiting outside," she said quietly. "She'll wonder where you've gone." She walked very slowly and erectly toward the door. Christina glanced at Ron, who was looking relieved that nothing worse had happened.

"Oppugno!" came a shriek from the doorway. Christina spun around to see Hermione pointing her wand at Ron, her expression wild: The little flock of birds was speeding like a hail of fat golden bullets toward Ron, who yelped and covered his face with his hands, but the birds attacked, pecking and clawing at every bit of flesh they could reach.

"Gerremoffme!" he yelled, but with one last look of vindictive fury, Hermione wrenched open the door and disappeared through it. Christina thought she heard a sob before it slammed.


	13. Chapter 13: Nude Confession

Snow was swirling against the icy windows once more; Christmas was approaching fast. Hagrid had already single-handedly delivered the usual twelve Christmas trees for the Great Hall; garlands of holly and tinsel had been twisted around the banisters of the stairs; everlasting candles glowed from inside the helmets of suits of armor and great bunches of mistletoe had been hung at intervals along the corridors. Large groups of girls tended to converge underneath the mistletoe bunches every time Harry went past, which caused blockages in the corridors so Christina would have to take Harry and Ron through the walls with her to class to avoid all the commotion. Ron, who might once have found the necessity of these detours a cause for jealousy rather than hilarity, simply roared with laughter about it all. Although Christina much preferred this new laughing, joking Ron to the moody, aggressive model she had been enduring for the last few weeks, the improved Ron came at a heavy price. Firstly, Christina had to put up with the frequent presence of Lavender Brown, who seemed to regard any moment that she was not kissing Ron as a moment wasted; and secondly, Christina found herself once more the best friend of two people who seemed unlikely ever to speak to each other again. Ron, whose hands and forearms still bore scratches and cuts from Hermione's bird attack, was taking a defensive and resentful tone.

"She can't complain," he told Christina and Harry. "She snogged Krum. So she's found out someone wants to snog me too. Well, it's a free country. I haven't done anything wrong." Christina did not answer, but pretended to be absorbed in the book they were supposed to have read before Charms next morning (Quintessence: A Quest). Determined as she was to remain friends with both Ron and Hermione, she was spending a lot of time with her mouth shut tight.

"I never promised Hermione anything," Ron mumbled. "I mean, all right, I was going to go to Slughorn's Christmas party with her, but she never said . . . just as friends . . . I'm a free agent. . . ." Christina turned a page of Quintessence, aware that Ron was watching her. Ron's voice tailed away in mutters, barely audible over the loud crackling of the fire, though Christina thought she caught the words "Krum" and "can't complain" again. Hermione's schedule was so full that Christina could only talk to her properly in the evenings and in the girls' dormitory, when Ron was, in any case, so tightly wrapped around Lavender that he did not notice what Christina or Harry were doing. Hermione refused to sit in the common room while Ron was there, so Christina and Harry generally joined her in the library, which meant that their conversations were held in whispers.

"He's at perfect liberty to kiss whomever he likes," said Hermione, while the librarian, Madam Pince, prowled the shelves behind them. "I really couldn't care less." She raised her quill and dotted an i so ferociously that she punctured a hole in her parchment. Neither Christina nor Harry said anything. In fact, the only time Christina really talked to anyone was whenever Hermione left for class and Ron left to snog and Christina and Harry could finally complain about the annoyance of it all.

"And incidentally," said Hermione, after a few moments, "you need to be careful."

"For the last time," said Harry, speaking in a slightly hoarse whisper after three-quarters of an hour of silence, "I am not giving back this book, I've learned more from the Half-Blood Prince than Snape or Slughorn have taught me in —"

"I'm not talking about your stupid so-called Prince," said Hermione, giving his book a nasty look as though it had been rude to her. "I'm talking about earlier. I went into the girls' bathroom just before I came in here and there were about a dozen girls in there, including that Romilda Vane, trying to decide how to slip you a love potion. They're all hoping they're going to get you to take them to Slughorn's party, and they all seem to have bought Fred and George's love potions, which I'm afraid to say probably work —"

"Why didn't you confiscate them then?" asked Christina genuinely curious. It seemed extraordinary that Hermione's mania for upholding rules could have abandoned her at this crucial juncture.

"They didn't have the potions with them in the bathroom," said Hermione scornfully. "They were just discussing tactics. As I doubt whether even the Half-Blood Prince" — she gave the book another nasty look — "could dream up an antidote for a dozen different love potions at once, I'd just invite someone to go with you, that'll stop all the others thinking they've still got a chance. It's tomorrow night, they're getting desperate."

"There isn't anyone I want to invite," mumbled Harry. Christina had hoped that if she couldn't go with Fred, which seemed more likely by the day, then she and Harry would go together as friends. Christina didn't want to ask him though, in case Harry did have his eyes set on someone. Harry looked over at Christina.

"Who're you taking?" She sighed. "Well, I don't know why I even thought this would work but I asked Fred if he could somehow come—"

"Christina the security measures alone—" Hermione started.

"I know! But you know Fred, he somehow finds a way to do just about anything. Well, he didn't respond yet probably because he's so busy so . . . I don't know. And besides, it's not like anyone's clambering to my mistletoe."

"Well, you're engaged!" Harry reasoned. Christina exhaled sharply, "It's cause of this." And she let her hand go in and out of form. Neither Hermione or Harry said anything.

"Well, just be careful what you drink, because Romilda Vane looked like she meant business," said Hermione grimly. She hitched up the long roll of parchment on which she was writing her Arithmancy essay and continued to scratch away with her quill.

"Hang on a moment," he said slowly. "I thought Filch had banned anything bought at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes?"

"And when has anyone ever paid attention to what Filch has banned?" asked Hermione, still concentrating on her essay. "But I thought all the owls were being searched. So how come these girls are able to bring love potions into school?"

"Fred and George send them disguised as perfumes and cough potions," said Hermione. "It's part of their Owl Order Service."

"You know a lot about it." Christina mused. Hermione gave her the kind of nasty look she had just given Harry's copy of Advanced Potion-Making.

"It was all on the back of the bottles they showed Ginny and me in the summer," she said coldly. "I don't go around putting potions in people's drinks . . . or pretending to, either, which is just as bad. . . ."

"Yeah, well, never mind that," said Harry quickly. "The point is, Filch is being fooled, isn't he? These girls are getting stuff into the school disguised as something else! So why couldn't Malfoy have brought the necklace into the school — ?"

"Oh, seriously Harry?" said Christina groaning.

" . . . not that again . . ." Hermione agreed.

"Come on, why not?" demanded Harry.

"Look," sighed Hermione, "Secrecy Sensors detect jinxes, curses, and concealment charms, don't they? They're used to find Dark Magic and Dark objects. They'd have picked up a powerful curse, like the one on that necklace, within seconds. But something that's just been put in the wrong bottle wouldn't register — and anyway, love potions aren't Dark or dangerous —"

"Easy for you to say," muttered Christina, thinking of Romilda Vane. She shuddered while Harry egged them on, "— so it would be down to Filch to realize it wasn't a cough potion, and he's not a very good wizard, I doubt he can tell one potion from —"

Hermione stopped dead; Christina had heard it too and used her powers to sense a figure behind the bookshelves. Somebody had moved close behind them. They waited, and a moment later the vulturelike countenance of Madam Pince appeared around the corner, her sunken cheeks, her skin like parchment, and her long hooked nose illuminated unflatteringly by the lamp she was carrying.

"The library is now closed," she said. "Mind you return anything you have borrowed to the correct — what have you been doing to that book, you depraved boy?"

"It isn't the library's, it's mine!" said Harry hastily, snatching his copy of Advanced Potion-Making off the table as she lunged at it with a clawlike hand.

"Despoiled!" she hissed. "Desecrated! Befouled!"

"It's just a book that's been written on!" said Harry, tugging it out of her grip. She looked as though she might have a seizure; Hermione, was hastily packing her things, Christina grabbed Harry by the arm and frog-marched him away.

"She'll ban you from the library if you're not careful. Why did you have to bring that stupid book?" Hermione asked.

"It's not my fault she's barking mad, Hermione. Or d'you think she overheard you being rude about Filch?"

"I've always thought there might be something going on between them. . . ." Christina mused.

"Oh, ha ha . . ." Enjoying the fact that they could speak normally again, they made their way along the deserted, lamp-lit corridors back to the common room, arguing about whether or not Filch and Madam Pince were secretly in love with each other.

"Baubles," said Harry to the Fat Lady, this being the new, festive password.

"Same to you," said the Fat Lady with a roguish grin, and she swung forward to admit them.

"Hi, Harry!" said Romilda Vane, the moment he had climbed through the portrait hole. "Fancy a gillywater?" Hermione gave him a "what-did-I-tell-you?" look over her shoulder. Christina covered her mouth to hide her laugh.

"No thanks," said Harry quickly. "I don't like it much."

"Well, take these anyway," said Romilda, thrusting a box into his hands. "Chocolate Cauldrons, they've got firewhisky in them. My gran sent them to me, but I don't like them."

"Oh — right — thanks a lot," said Harry, who could not think what else to say. "Er — I'm just going over here with . . ." He hurried off behind Hermione, his voice tailing away feebly.

"Told you," said Hermione succinctly. "Sooner you ask someone, sooner they'll all leave you alone and you can —" But her face suddenly turned blank; she had just spotted Ron and Lavender, who were entwined in the same armchair.

"Well, good night, Harry, Christina and I were just leaving" said Hermione grabbing Christina's arm and taking her upstairs. Though it was only seven o'clock in the evening, they left without another word. Christina went to bed comforting herself that there was only one more day of lessons to struggle through, plus Slughorn's party, after which she, Harry and Ron would depart together for the Burrow and she'd finally get to see Fred again. It now seemed impossible that Ron and Hermione would make up with each other before the holidays began, but perhaps, somehow, the break would give them time to calm down, think better of their behavior. . . .

But her hopes were not high, and they sank still lower after enduring a Transfiguration lesson with them both next day. They had just embarked upon the immensely difficult topic of human Transfiguration; working in front of mirrors, they were supposed to be changing the color of their own eyebrows. Hermione laughed unkindly at Ron's disastrous first attempt, during which he somehow managed to give himself a spectacular handlebar mustache; Ron retaliated by doing a cruel but accurate impression of Hermione jumping up and down in her seat every time Professor McGonagall asked a question, which Lavender and Parvati found deeply amusing and which reduced Hermione to the verge of tears again. She raced out of the classroom on the bell, leaving half her things behind; Christina, deciding that Hermione's need was greater than Ron's just now, scooped up her remaining possessions and followed her and thankfully Harry joined. Christina finally tracked her down as she emerged from a girls' bathroom on the floor below. She was accompanied by Luna Lovegood, who was patting her vaguely on the back.

"Oh, hello, Christina, Harry" said Luna. "Christina, did you know one of your eyebrows is bright yellow?"

"Hi, Luna. Hermione, you left your stuff. . . ." Christina held out her books.

"Oh yes," said Hermione in a choked voice, taking her things and turning away quickly to hide the fact that she was wiping her eyes on her pencil case. "Thank you, Christina. Well, I'd better get going. . . ." And she hurried off, without giving Christina or Harry any time to offer words of comfort, though admittedly she could not think of any.

"She's a bit upset," said Luna. "I thought at first it was Moaning Myrtle in there, but it turned out to be Hermione. She said something about that Ron Weasley. . . ."

"Yeah, they've had a row," said Harry.

"He says very funny things sometimes, doesn't he?" said Luna, as they all set off down the corridor together. "But he can be a bit unkind. I noticed that last year."

"I s'pose," said Harry. Luna was demonstrating her usual knack of speaking uncomfortable truths; Christina had never met anyone quite like her.

"So have you had a good term, Luna?" Christina asked.

"Oh, it's been all right," said Luna. "A bit lonely without the D.A. Ginny's been nice, though. She stopped two boys in our Transfiguration class calling me 'Loony' the other day —"

"How would you like to come to Slughorn's party with me tonight?" The words were out of Harry's mouth and Christina could hardly interpret them. Luna turned her protuberant eyes upon him in surprise. "Slughorn's party? With you?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "We're supposed to bring guests, so I thought you might like . . . I mean . . .I mean, just as friends, you know. But if you don't want to . . ."

"Oh, no, I'd love to go with you as friends!" said Luna, beaming as Christina had never seen her beam before.

"Nobody's ever asked me to a party before, as a friend! Christina, is that why you dyed your eyebrow, for the party? Should I do mine too?"

"You know—"

"No," said Harry firmly, stopping Christina in her tracks, "that was a mistake. So, I'll meet you in the entrance hall at eight o'clock then."

"AHA!" screamed a voice from overhead and they all jumped; unnoticed by either of them, they had just passed right underneath Peeves, who was hanging upside down from a chandelier and grinning maliciously at them.

"Potty asked Loony to go to the party! Potty lurves Loony! Potty luuuuurves Looooooony!" And he zoomed away, cackling and shrieking, "Potty loves Loony!"

"Nice to keep these things private," said Harry. And sure enough, in no time at all the whole school seemed to know that Harry Potter was taking Luna Lovegood to Slughorn's party.

"You could've taken anyone!" said Ron in disbelief over dinner. "Anyone! And you chose Loony Lovegood?"

"Don't call her that, Ron," snapped Ginny, pausing behind Harry on her way to join friends. "I'm really glad you're taking her, Harry, she's so excited." And she moved on down the table to sit with Dean. A long way along the table, Hermione was sitting alone, playing with her stew. Christina noticed Ron looking at her furtively.

"You could say sorry," suggested Christina bluntly.

"What, and get attacked by another flock of canaries?" muttered Ron.

"What did you have to imitate her for?" Harry asked.

"She laughed at my mustache!"

"So did I, it was the stupidest thing I've ever seen." Christina said. But Ron did not seem to have heard; Lavender had just arrived with Parvati. Squeezing herself in between Harry and Ron, Lavender flung her arms around Ron's neck. Christina stood at once.

"Bye," she said at once and headed over to Hermione. Christina would rather sit next to Harry over Hermione but she refused to have to deal with Ron and Lavender. _Fred and I were never that bad . . . were we?_

"Hey," said Christina putting her things down next to Hermione. Hermione didn't say anything and kept reading. "Oh you gonna push me out too?" Hermione sighed and looked at Christina.

"Hi."

"Hi." Christina shook her head and pulled out a book of her own. Neville sat down across from them.

"Hi guys!" They both gave back a quiet 'Hi Neville' and Neville sat his plant on the table and Christina's mind went through, she assumed, the same process Harry's did.

"Neville, you should come with me to Slughorn's party." And just as Christina did with Harry and Luna, Hermione's head snapped to look at Christina in shock. Neville's plant started purring at Christina.

"Oh, er, that's so nice of you, but, aren't you and Fred—"

"Oh! It'd just be as friends, ha, yeah still engaged" and Christina flashed up her ring and Neville let out a sigh of relief. Christina was slightly offended by the reaction from Neville but she brushed it off.

"Well then, yeah! That sounds like fun. Thanks, Christina!" Christina smiled back at him and looked over to Pavarti and Harry who were now walking over to them

"Hi, Hermione, Christina" said Parvati. Hermione beamed at Pavarti, apparently extremely excited to see her.

"Hi," said Christina. "How're you? You're staying at Hogwarts, then? I heard your parents wanted you to leave."

"I managed to talk them out of it for the time being," said Parvati. "That Katie thing really freaked them out, but as there hasn't been anything since . . ."

"Are you going to Slughorn's party tonight?" Hermione asked.

"No invite," said Parvati gloomily. "I'd love to go, though, it sounds like it's going to be really good. . . . You're going, aren't you?"

"Yes, I'm meeting Cormac at eight, and we're —" Hermione said his name as though she were using a megaphone. There was a noise like a plunger being withdrawn from a blocked sink and Ron surfaced a table away. Hermione acted as though she had not seen or heard anything. "— we're going up to the party together."

"Cormac?" said Parvati. "Cormac McLaggen, you mean?"

"That's right," said Hermione sweetly. "The one who almost" — she put a great deal of emphasis on the word — "became Gryffindor Keeper."

"Are you going out with him, then?" asked Parvati, wide-eyed.

"Oh — yes — didn't you know?" said Hermione, with a most un-Hermione-ish giggle.

"No!" said Parvati, looking positively agog at this piece of gossip. "Wow, you like your Quidditch players, don't you? First Krum, then McLaggen . . ."

"I like really good Quidditch players," Hermione corrected her, still smiling. "Well, see you . . . Got to go and get ready for the party. . . ." She left.

At once Parvati rushed over to Lavender and put their heads together to discuss this new development, with everything they had ever heard about McLaggen, and all they had ever guessed about Hermione. Ron looked strangely blank and said nothing.

"Neville." Christina said his name loudly enough to pull herself out of all the thoughts swarming Hermione's odd revenge plot against Ron. "Meet around 8pm in the common room, wear something . . . good?" Neville was now red-faced, the reaction she had thought would happen earlier.

"Yeah! Yeah . . . something good."

And sure enough at 8pm that night Neville came down from the boy's dormitory wearing black sleek dress robes and black shiny shoes. Christina was impressed. With Christina's natural powers she had the luxury of dreaming up any jewelry she wanted, so for her black dress robes she adorned the collar with black gems, gave herself a silver bracelet, and wore black gem earrings.

"You look very nice, Chirisnta." Neville said half bowing awkwardly and attempting to shake her hand. Christina laughed and hugged him.

"Come on, you goof."

When they arrived in the entrance hall around eight o'clock that night, she found an unusually large number of girls lurking there, all of whom seemed to be staring at Harry resentfully as he approached Luna. She was wearing a set of spangled silver robes that were attracting a certain amount of giggles from the onlookers, but otherwise she looked quite nice. Christina was surprised that Luna had left off her radish earrings, her butterbeer cork necklace, and her Spectrespecs.

"Hey Harry, hey Luna!" Christina said rushing over, Neville at her heels.

"Hi, you look nice" he said to Christina.

"Thanks!" Christina said, slightly blushing.

"Shall we get going then?" said Harry.

"Oh yes," Luna said happily.

"Where is the party?" asked Neville.

"Slughorn's office," said Harry, leading them up the marble staircase away from all the staring and muttering.

"Did you hear, there's supposed to be a vampire coming?" Neville said.

"Rufus Scrimgeour?" asked Luna.

"I — what?" said Harry, disconcerted.

"You mean the Minister of Magic?" asked Christina trying to piece together what Luna or Neville were talking about.

"Yes, he's a vampire," said Luna matter-of-factly. "Father wrote a very long article about it when Scrimgeour first took over from Cornelius Fudge, but he was forced not to publish by somebody from the Ministry. Obviously, they didn't want the truth to get out!" Christina, who thought it most unlikely that Rufus Scrimgeour was a vampire, but who was used to Luna repeating her father's bizarre views as though they were fact, did not reply; they were already approaching Slughorn's office and the sounds of laughter, music, and loud conversation were growing louder with every step they took.

Whether it had been built that way, or because he had used magical trickery to make it so, Slughorn's office was much larger than the usual teacher's study. The ceiling and walls had been draped with emerald, crimson, and gold hangings, so that it looked as though they were all inside a vast tent. The room was crowded and stuffy and bathed in the red light cast by an ornate golden lamp dangling from the center of the ceiling in which real fairies were fluttering, each a brilliant speck of light. Loud singing accompanied by what sounded like mandolins issued from a distant corner; a haze of pipe smoke hung over several elderly warlocks deep in conversation, and a number of house-elves were negotiating their way squeakily through the forest of knees, obscured by the heavy silver platters of food they were bearing, so that they looked like little roving tables.

"Harry, m'boy! Christina!" boomed Slughorn, almost as soon as Christina, Harry, Neville and Luna had squeezed in through the door. "Come in, come in, so many people I'd like you to meet!" Slughorn was wearing a tasseled velvet hat to match his smoking jacket. Gripping Christina's arm so tightly she might have been hoping to Disapparate with him, Slughorn led them purposefully into the party; Christina seized Neville's hand and dragged him along with them, Luna whimsically following.

"Christina, Harry, I'd like you two to meet Eldred Worple, an old student of mine, author of Blood Brothers: My Life Amongst the Vampires — and, of course, his friend Sanguini." Worple, who was a small, stout, bespectacled man, grabbed Christina and Harry's hands and shook them enthusiastically; the vampire Sanguini, who was tall and emaciated with dark shadows under his eyes, merely nodded at Harry and hissed at Christina. A gaggle of girls was standing close to him, looking curious and excited.

"My, my, The Chosen Ones! I am simply delighted!" said Worple, peering shortsightedly up into Christina and Harry's faces. "I was saying to Professor Slughorn only the other day, 'Where is the biography of Harry Potter and Christina Bataskill for which we have all been waiting?'"

"Er," said Harry, "were you?"

"December 2020, good sir!" Christina fake laughed and clapped him on the back. The man was delighted.

"Just as ambitious as Horace described!" said Worple. "But seriously" — his manner changed; it became suddenly businesslike — "I would be delighted to write it myself — people are craving to know more about you two, craving! If you were prepared to grant me a few interviews, say in four- or five-hour sessions, why, we could have the book finished within months. And all with very little effort on your part, I assure you — ask Sanguini here if it isn't quite — Sanguini, stay here!" added Worple, suddenly stern, for the vampire had been edging toward the nearby group of girls, a rather hungry look in his eye.

"Here, have a pasty," said Worple, seizing one from a passing elf and stuffing it into Sanguini's hand before turning his attention back to Christina and Harry. "My dear kids, the gold you could make, you have no idea —"

"Ah, we've already written the first two hundred pages with another under contract, sorry!" said Christina reading Harry's uncomfortable face. Christina pulled Neville after her into the crowd alongside Harry and Luna. Just then, Christina saw a flash of bushy hair, Harry had spotted her first.

"Hermione! Hermione!"

"Harry! There you are, thank goodness! Christina you need to help me. Oh and hi, Luna! You look nice, Neville."

"What's happened to you?" asked Harry, for Hermione looked distinctly disheveled, rather as though she had just fought her way out of a thicket of Devil's Snare.

"Oh, I've just escaped — I mean, I've just left Cormac," she said. "Under the mistletoe," she added in explanation, as Christina continued to look questioningly at her.

"Serves you right for coming with him," he told her severely.

"I thought he'd annoy Ron most," said Hermione dispassionately. "I debated for a while about Zacharias Smith, but I thought, on the whole —"

"You considered Smith?" said Christina, revolted.

"Yes, I did, and I'm starting to wish I'd chosen him, McLaggen makes Grawp look a gentleman. Let's go this way, we'll be able to see him coming, he's so tall. . . ." The five of them made their way over to the other side of the room, scooping up goblets of mead on the way, realizing too late that Professor Trelawney was standing there alone.

"Hello," said Luna politely to Professor Trelawney.

"Good evening, my dear," said Professor Trelawney, focusing upon Luna with some difficulty. Christina could smell cooking sherry again. "I haven't seen you in my classes lately. . . ."

"No, I've got Firenze this year," said Luna.

"Oh, of course," said Professor Trelawney with an angry, drunken titter. "Or Dobbin, as I prefer to think of him. You would have thought, would you not, that now I am returned to the school Professor Dumbledore might have got rid of the horse? But no . . . we share classes. . . . It's an insult, frankly, an insult. Do you know . . ." Professor Trelawney seemed too tipsy to have recognized Christina. Under cover of her furious criticisms of Firenze, Harry drew closer to Hermione and Christina overheard him say, "Let's get something straight. Are you planning to tell Ron that you interfered at Keeper tryouts?" Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"Do you really think I'd stoop that low?" Christina looked at her shrewdly. "Hermione, if you can ask out McLaggen —"

"There's a difference," said Hermione with dignity. "I've got no plans to tell Ron anything about what might, or might not, have happened at Keeper tryouts."

"Good," said Harry fervently. "Because he'll just fall apart again, and we'll lose the next match —"

"Quidditch!" said Hermione angrily. "Is that all boys care about? Cormac hasn't asked me one single question about myself, no, I've just been treated to 'A Hundred Great Saves Made by Cormac McLaggen' nonstop ever since — oh no, here he comes!" She moved so fast it was as though she had Disapparated; one moment she was there, the next, she had squeezed between two guffawing witches and vanished.

"Seen Hermione?" asked McLaggen, forcing his way through the throng a minute later.

"No, sorry," said Harry. McLaggen turned to Christina.

"Oh, Christina, Professor McGonagall is looking for you," Christina looked at him confused and then searched the crowded party for Professor McGonagall. Christina heard Hermione gasp and then tug on her arm. Christina turned to where Hermione was now pointing to see Professor McGonagall looking as annoyed holding by the collar of his robes, Fred Weasley.

Christina dropped her goblet and squealed, she blasted through the crowd in her partially dust form and rematerialized in front of Fred and McGonagall, leaping on top of him, holding him tight.

"You came!" Christina said letting him go. But it was Professor McGonagall who spoke first with a wagging finger.

"Yes, Mr. Filch found Mr. Weasley attempting to penetrate the walls of the castle. Ms. Bataskill I cannot even begin—!"

"This must be the infamous Fred Weasley! First man to bag a natural, am I right m'boy?" It was Professor Slughorn tipsily poking Fred's sides. Fred gave Christina a bizarre look and Christina just shook her head.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor for even thinking that this boy could—"

"Minerva, my dear, it seems you haven't perused my drink selection—"

"Horace that is quite enough! Bataskill, you cannot invite non-students or staff to the castle especially because of that state of things!"

"I know Professor; I wasn't expecting him to show up like this. I'm sorry." Christina said. Professor McGonagall didn't say anything but looked as livid as ever. Christina smiled apologetically and took Fred's hand and they walked slowly backward away from McGonagall and Slughorn. They eventually bumped into a table and then darted as far away from McGonagall as possible. Once they were secured behind one of the many drapes, Fred picked Christina up by the waist and kissed her passionately against the wall.

"I can't believe you came!" said Christina. Fred looked down jokingly at his crotch.

"I didn't cum . . . but trust me I will later." He said with a smirk and Christina rolled her eyes and kissed him anyway. "Let's go, I wanna hear about all the stuff you're learning from Dumbledore!" Fred said quietly and Christina peeked from the curtain to see Slughorn, Filch, and shockingly Draco Malfoy by the entrance.

"It's Christmas, and it's not a crime to want to come to a party. Just this once, we'll forget any punishment; you may stay, Draco." Filch's expression of outraged disappointment was perfectly predictable; but why, Christina wondered, watching him, did Malfoy look almost equally unhappy? Fred peered out of the curtain as well.

"What's going on?"

"Malfoy's gatecrashing and is upset that he's allowed to stay . . ."

"Snape looks cross . . . or scared. Not sure which." And Fred was right, Snape did look a little afraid. Malfoy had composed his face into a smile and was thanking Slughorn for his generosity, and Snape's face was smoothly inscrutable again.

"It's nothing, nothing," said Slughorn, waving away Malfoy's thanks. "I did know your grandfather, after all. . . ."

"He always spoke very highly of you, sir," said Malfoy quickly. "Said you were the best potion-maker he'd ever known. . . ." Christina rolled her eyes, Malfoy was back to normal.

"Come on, let's go." Christina said grabbing Fred's arm and turning both herself and Fred to dust. They flew through the party undetected and once they were in an abandoned corridor rematerialized. They walked down the corridor, hand in hand.

"Was it just me, or did Malfoy look ill?" said Fred. Christina groaned, "Not you too! Harry has about a billion theories a minute about that weasel. Can't we just have really great sex before you have to leave?" Fred stopped walking and jumped to the classroom door on their right, displaying it like a prize.

"Why don't we see what's behind door number one?" They entered the abandoned classroom and as soon as the door closed, clothes were off. Fred laid Christina down on the floor and just couldn't wait, he pressed his hard penis into her and began pumping furiously. Christina and Fred had about a minute of action before the door swung open and in came two figures. Fred exited her and then grabbed Christina and went under the desk to hide, holding each other's mouths shut. Christina tried to use her powers but she realized quickly they were useless; when Fred had exited her he had gotten her thigh wet, she was powerless.

". . . cannot afford mistakes, Draco, because if you are expelled —" _Snape?_

"I didn't have anything to do with it, all right?"

"I hope you are telling the truth, because it was both clumsy and foolish. Already you are suspected of having a hand in it."

"Who suspects me?" said Malfoy angrily. "For the last time, I didn't do it, okay? That Bell girl must've had an enemy no one knows about — don't look at me like that! I know what you're doing, I'm not stupid, but it won't work — I can stop you!"

There was a pause and then Snape said quietly, "Ah . . . Aunt Bellatrix has been teaching you Occlumency, I see. What thoughts are you trying to conceal from your master, Draco?"

"I'm not trying to conceal anything from him, I just don't want you butting in!" Christina gave a worried look to Fred, if he could just wipe off the part of her thigh where it wasn't dry . . .

"So that is why you have been avoiding me this term? You have feared my interference? You realize that, had anybody else failed to come to my office when I had told them repeatedly to be there, Draco —"

"So put me in detention! Report me to Dumbledore!" jeered Malfoy. There was another pause. Then Snape said, "You know perfectly well that I do not wish to do either of those things."

"You'd better stop telling me to come to your office then!" Christina removed her hands from Fred's mouth and took Fred's off hers. She then pointed to her thigh and motioned for him to wipe her dry.

"Listen to me," said Snape, his voice so low now that Christina had to be even quieter to hear, "I am trying to help you. I swore to your mother I would protect you. I made , Draco —"

"Looks like you'll have to break it, then, because I don't need your protection! It's my job, he gave it to me and I'm doing it, I've got a plan and it's going to work, it's just taking a bit longer than I thought it would!"

"What is your plan?"

"It's none of your business!"

"If you tell me what you are trying to do, I can assist you —"

"I've got all the assistance I need, thanks, I'm not alone!"

"You were certainly alone tonight, which was foolish in the extreme, wandering the corridors without lookouts or backup, these are elementary mistakes —" Fred still wasn't understanding what Christina was saying so she grabbed his hand and wiped her thigh clean. Fred let out an audible 'oh!" and Christina grabbed his mouth again.

"I would've had Crabbe and Goyle with me if you hadn't put them in detention!"

"Keep your voice down!" spat Snape, for Malfoy's voice had risen excitedly. "If your friends Crabbe and Goyle intend to pass their Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. this time around, they will need to work a little harder than they are doing at pres —"

"What does it matter?" said Malfoy. "Defense Against the Dark Arts — it's all just a joke, isn't it, an act? Like any of us need protecting against the Dark Arts —" Christina sighed, neither of them had heard Fred. She checked to see if her powers worked by shapeshifting her hand. It worked.

"It is an act that is crucial to success, Draco!" said Snape. "Where do you think I would have been all these years, if I had not known how to act? Now listen to me! You are being incautious, wandering around at night, getting yourself caught, and if you are placing your reliance in assistants like Crabbe and Goyle —" Fred shifted under the desk and both Malfoy and Snape stopped talking.

"Stupef—" but before he could finish the incantation, Christina and Fred disappeared through the castle floor and Christina flew them outside where they could materialize naked without drawing eyes.


	14. Chapter 14: Pummeled Parsnip

After Christina fled to her dormitory to receive clothes for the two of them, Fred nearly freezing in the December cold, they thought it as good of a time as any to head back to the Burrow for Christmas holiday. The first person Christina told about what she overheard, after perhaps hours of canoodling with Fred, was Harry.

"So Snape was offering to help him? He was definitely offering to help him?"

"If you ask that once more," said Christina, "I'm going to stick this sprout —"

"I'm only checking!" said Harry. They were standing alone at the Burrow's kitchen sink, peeling a mountain of sprouts for Mrs. Weasley. Snow was drifting past the window in front of them, Fred still asleep.

"Yes, Snape was offering to help him!" said Christina. "He said he'd promised Malfoy's mother to protect him, that he'd made an Unbreakable Oath or something —"

"An Unbreakable Vow?" said Ron, entering the kitchen looking stunned. "Nah, he can't have. . . . Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," said Christina. "Why, what does it mean?"

"Well, you can't break an Unbreakable Vow. . . ." said Ron.

"I'd worked that much out for myself, funnily enough. What happens if you break it, then?"

"You die," said Ron simply. "Fred and George tried to get me to make one when I was about five. I nearly did too, I was holding hands with Fred and everything when Dad found us. He went mental," said Ron, with a reminiscent gleam in his eyes. "Only time I've ever seen Dad as angry as Mum. Fred reckons his left buttock has never been the same since."

"Yeah, well, passing over Fred's left buttock —" said Harry.

"I beg your pardon?" said Fred's voice as the twins entered the kitchen. "Aaah, George, look at this. They're using knives and everything. Bless them."

"I'll be twenty-three in two and a bit months' time," said Ron grumpily, "and then I'll be able to do it by magic!"

"But meanwhile," said George, sitting down at the kitchen table and putting his feet up on it, "we can enjoy watching you demonstrate the correct use of a — whoops-a-daisy!"

"You made me do that!" said Ron angrily, sucking his cut thumb. "You wait, when I'm twenty-three —"

"I'm sure you'll dazzle us all with hitherto unsuspected magical skills," yawned Fred.

"And speaking of hitherto unsuspected skills, Ronald," said George, "what is this we hear from Ginny about you and a young lady called — unless our information is faulty — Lavender Brown?" Ron turned a little pink, but did not look displeased as he turned back to the sprouts. "Mind your own business."

"What a snappy retort," said Fred. "I really don't know how you think of them. No, what we wanted to know was . . . how did it happen?"

"What d'you mean?"

"Did she have an accident or something?"

"What?"

"Well, how did she sustain such extensive brain damage? Careful, now!" Mrs. Weasley entered the room just in time to see Ron throw the sprout knife at Fred, and Christina turned it into metal filings with one lazy snap of her wrist.

"Ron!" she said furiously. "Don't you ever let me see you throwing knives again!"

"I won't," said Ron, "let you see," he added under his breath, as he joined the sprout mountain.

"Fred, George, I'm sorry, dears, but Remus is arriving tonight, so Bill will have to squeeze in with you two."

"No problem," said George.

"Then, as Charlie isn't coming home, that just leaves Harry and Ron in the attic, and if Fleur shares with Ginny and Christina —"

"Wait, what?!" said Christina whipping around on Mrs. Weasley.

"Dear, trust me I know but we're strapped for space. Everyone should be comfortable. Well, they'll have a bed, anyway," said Mrs. Weasley, sounding slightly harassed.

"Percy definitely not showing his ugly face, then?" asked Fred. Mrs. Weasley turned away before she answered.

"No, he's busy, I expect, at the Ministry."

"Or he's the world's biggest prat," said Fred, as Mrs. Weasley left the kitchen. "One of the two. Well, let's get going, then, George."

"What are you two up to?" asked Ron. "Can't you help us with these sprouts? You could just use your wand and then we'll be free too!"

"No, I don't think we can do that," said Fred seriously. "It's very character-building stuff, learning to peel sprouts without magic, makes you appreciate how difficult it is for Muggles and Squibs —"

"— and if you want people to help you, Ron," added George, "I wouldn't chuck knives at them. Just a little hint. We're off to the village, there's a very pretty girl working in the paper shop who thinks my card tricks are something marvelous . . . almost like real magic. . . ." Fred kissed Christina goodbye and left with George out the door.

"Gits," said Ron darkly, watching Fred and George setting off across the snowy yard. "Would've only taken them ten seconds and then we could've gone too."

"I couldn't," said Harry. "I promised Dumbledore I wouldn't wander off while I'm staying here."

"Oh yeah," said Ron. He peeled a few more sprouts and then looked at Christina and said, "Are you going to tell Dumbledore what you heard Snape and Malfoy saying to each other?"

"Oh yeah," said Christina. "I mean this is probably the most concrete evidence we have against Malfoy."

"Pity you didn't hear what Malfoy's actually doing, though."

"I couldn't have done, could I? That was the whole point, he was refusing to tell Snape." There was silence for a moment or two, then Ron said, " 'Course, you know what they'll all say? Dad and Dumbledore and all of them? They'll say Snape isn't really trying to help Malfoy, he was just trying to find out what Malfoy's up to."

"They didn't hear him," said Christina flatly. "No one's that good an actor, not even Snape."

"Yeah . . . I'm just saying, though," said Ron. Christina turned to face the boys, frowning. "You think I'm right, though?"

"Of course, I do!" said Harry hastily.

"Seriously, I do! But they're all convinced Snape's in the Order, aren't they?" said Ron. Christina said nothing. It hadn't occurred to her that this would be the most likely objection to the new evidence; Christina thought of what Hermione would say: Obviously, Christina, he was pretending to offer help so he could trick Malfoy into telling him what he's doing. . . . This was pure imagination, however, as she had had no opportunity to tell Hermione what she had overheard. Hermione had already gone to bed by the time she returned to the girls dormitory for clothes. As she, Fred, Harry and Ron had left for the Burrow early the next day, Christina had barely had time to wish her a happy Christmas and to tell her that Christina had some very important news when they got back from the holidays. Christina was not entirely sure that Hermione had heard her, though; Ron and Lavender had been saying a thoroughly nonverbal good-bye just behind them at the time. Still, even Hermione would not be able to deny one thing: Malfoy was definitely up to something, and Snape knew it.

The Weasleys and their guests were sitting in the living room, which Ginny had decorated so lavishly that it was rather like sitting in a paper-chain explosion. Fred, George, Christina, Harry, and Ron were the only ones who knew that the angel on top of the tree was actually a garden gnome that had bitten Fred on the ankle as he pulled up carrots for Christmas dinner. Stupefied, painted gold, stuffed into a miniature tutu and with small wings glued to its back, it glowered down at them all, the ugliest angel Christina had ever seen, with a large bald head like a potato and rather hairy feet. They were all supposed to be listening to a Christmas broadcast by Mrs. Weasley's favorite singer, Celestina Warbeck, whose voice was warbling out of the large wooden wireless set. Fleur, who seemed to find Celestina very dull, was talking so loudly in the corner that a scowling Mrs. Weasley kept pointing her wand at the volume control, so that Celestina grew louder and louder. Under cover of a particularly jazzy number called "A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love," Fred and George started a game of Exploding Snap with Christina. Ron kept shooting Bill and Fleur covert looks, as though hoping to pick up tips. Meanwhile, Remus Lupin, who was thinner and more ragged-looking than ever, was sitting beside the fire, staring into its depths as though he could not hear Celestina's voice.

 _Oh, come and stir my cauldron,_

 _And if you do it right,_

 _I'll boil you up some hot strong love_

 _To keep you warm tonight._

"We danced to this when we were eighteen!" said Mrs. Weasley, wiping her eyes on her knitting. "Do you remember, Arthur?"

"Mphf?" said Mr. Weasley, whose head had been nodding over the satsuma he was peeling. "Oh yes . . . marvelous tune . . ." Just then Christina card exploded while she was looking away at Mr. Weasley.

"Hey!"

"You gotta pay attention!" said George folding his arms.

"I am paying attention, cheater!" Christina stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed.

"So, what really is the deal with Ron and Lavender?" George asked, mixing up the Exploding Snap deck.

"Basically Ron is good at Quidditch and was in the Department of Mysteries so now girls like him, Lavender Brown being the grossest of the bunch."

"That's all it takes? Christina you're inviting us next time." Said George, laying down the cards. From the corner of her eye Christina saw Harry and Lupin talking.

"Well you could've come to first time if you didn't ditch school . . ." she said, choosing her cards. Neither of the twins said anything. Two cards exploded. Christina sighed.

"I'm bored, wanna mess with my powers in the yard?" said Christina excitedly. George exploded the rest of the cards purposely.

"Yes, ma'am!" The twins and Christina and headed to the backdoor.

 _. . . and now you've torn it quite apart_

 _I'll thank you to give back my heart!_

Celestina ended her song on a very long, high-pitched note and loud applause issued out of the wireless, which Mrs. Weasley joined in with enthusiastically.

"Eez eet over?" said Fleur loudly. "Thank goodness, what an 'orrible —"

"Shall we have a nightcap, then?" asked Mr. Weasley loudly, leaping to his feet. "Who wants eggnog?"

"And just where do you think you three are going?" Mrs. Weasley said standing as well.

"We wanted to show Christina the gnome hole! She missed it earlier." said Fred. Mrs. Weasley folded her arms and rolled her eyes.

"You're to back inside within the half hour!"

"Bye, mum!" Fred and George said and held the door open for Christina. Christina looked back to Lupin who looked as gaunt as ever. He didn't acknowledge her, and she left.

"George, you're gonna enjoy this since you really haven't seen what I can even do."

"I've only head from Fred . . . rollercoaster in the Room of Requirement? Nice." Christina laughed and rose in the air a few feet from the ground.

"Flying is fun too." She took Fred and George's hands and flew about a hundred feet into the air, Christina raised a square of dirt from the ground and flew it up to them. They sat on the floating platform and looked out to the vast field below them.

"Just . . . wow." George said astonished. He was too afraid to get close to the edge of the platform but Fred having experienced this before was sitting with his legs off the edge. Christina sat next to him.

"It's definitely fun." said Christina, she laid down, legs hanging off the edge. Head next to George's legs which were crossed, he was still petrified and in the middle. Fred laughed.

"Come on Georgie, wanna jump off?" said Fred poking George's leg. George mock laughed at him.

"Yeah I'd like to see you jump off," he said sarcastically, slapping Fred's arm away from him.

"Okay!" and Fred got up and pushed his body off the ledge. Christina was used to this ridiculous routine of pretend-scaring her and she, as she always did, stopped him midair with her abilities.

"Fred!—Fred?" George was now at the edge watching Fred with confusion, Fred was floating a foot below, now laughing.

"Scare you?" Christina lifted him back on the platform and George shoved him. "You arse."

"Oh! Someone hex me, I can catch spells apparently." Christina said, suddenly remembered her encounter with Ron's hex toward Ginny. Fred and George looked at each other, apparently determining who would hex Christina, Fred then took out his wand.

"Any preference?" Christina stood up and extended the platform so they had proper dueling length. She went to one end and Fred stood at the other aiming his wand at her.

"Be gentle . . ." she said and Fred fired a blue jet of light Christina's way she instinctually stepped out of the way, "Damn! Sorry, do it again." Fred sent another and this time she readied herself. She held up her hands but the spell just hit her and she flew back from the platform.

"Christina!" the twins shouting running to the edge of the platform, but now it was Christina's turn to laugh.

"Guys, I literally can control most things. You know I can fly!" She flew back up to the platform and Fred hugged her.

"Thought I hurt you . . . why didn't you catch it?" Fred asked releasing her.

"Maybe I don't super know how— "

"CHRISTINA!" The voice came from below, Christina and the twins peeked over the ledge to see Remus Lupin, Mr. Weasley, and Ginny. The two adults looked furious, Ginny was more impressed.

"This is wildly irresponsible, Christina! Get them down this instant!" Christina watched the words fly from Lupin's mouth and she wanted to punch them back in. Christina begrudgingly levitated the platform back down to the ground and Mr. Weasley rushed forward to give a hand to his twins.

"Dad we're fine, we were just—"

"Inside, now! Ginny that means you too!" Mr. Weasley commanded, Fred and George didn't move at first but after Christina nodded at them to go they walked back inside with Ginny, fuming.

"Arthur, I can handle this." Lupin said still scowling at Christina. Christina could do nothing but glare back. Mr. Weasley looked as though he were about to say something but just sighed and followed the twins back inside.

"I don't even know where to begin with you, Christina. Why were you dueling so high up?" He asked heatedly. Christina didn't respond for a moment which only angered Lupin more.

"We were just messing around— "

"And what would've happened if one of them fell? What would you tell Arthur and Molly if you killed two of their sons!"

"Oh, give me a break, I'm not going to let me _fiancé_ and his twin brother fall off, and even if they did I would catch them. I can do that, you know!"

"Give you a break? Give _me_ a break! You think having fun involves endangering the lives of your friends? Dumbledore warned you against your risky and unsafe behavior—"

"No! Actually, Dumbledore told me I can use my powers whenever I wanted, so maybe you should take it up with him if you don't like how I hang out with Fred and George." Christina went to walk past him back into the house but he grabbed her by the upper arm and pulled her closer so that he was whispering.

"If anyone understands having secondary abilities that most people don't, it's me. And let me explain something to you, if you don't assimilate and soon, you will be cast out like a freak in minutes. You may think it's fun to play around, but the Weasley's see a dangerous girl, unaware of what she is capable of, as do I. Maybe you shouldn't scare your new family if you still want one." Christina stared back at him, her heart was racing, breathing irregular. Never had Lupin been so intentionally hurtful in her life. Surely the Weasley's didn't think that . . . Fred didn't think that at least. Ginny didn't think that, Ginny even said that she wished she had the same powers as Christina . . . She wanted desperately to leave but didn't want to abandon Fred. She lifted a small square of dirt from the ground and secretly engraved a message to Fred.

"Christina?" Lupin asked, snapping Christina back to attention. She signed her note and then shrugged off Lupin's grip and turned her back to him, pausing for a moment to put that stone note in Fred's room, before flying away from the Burrow as fast as she could.

 _Fred_

 _Apparate to me if you can, I'm at your shop. Lupin's an asshole, ran away for the night._

 _Christina_

She didn't stop flying until she reached the Leaky Cauldron. It wasn't too late but she definitely didn't want to be recognized there alone at that time of night. Christina made herself a makeshift cape and hood from the surrounding cobblestone and headed into the bar. Tom the barman was there cleaning the glasses and barely looked up to see the cloaked Christina enter. She quickly and quietly worked her way to the entrance to Diagon Alley without raising any detection. Christina then soon realized she needed a wand to enter, so instead she used her abilities to dissipate herself through the wall and onto the other side.

Diagon Alley was completely deserted. Christina held onto her makeshift hooded cape and ran down the cobblestone path towards Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. After what felt like forever, Christina finally reached the shop front and noticed flashing lights in the upstairs office. _Fred?_

Christina abandoned the cloak and went through the door, flew straight upstairs to see Fred and Lupin, wands out, squaring off to each other. The second Christina rematerialized herself on the stairs Lupin shot a spell at her that she dodged.

"Christina, get out of here!" Fred shouted, shooing her away with his hand. Lupin flicked his wand towards the door and it shut and the lock clicked.

"You're mad!" Fred shouted at Lupin but Lupin didn't say anything. He did look mad, looked ravenous even . . _. but it wasn't a full moon_ , Christina thought. Lupin still didn't speak, just held the wand with two hands, pointing at Fred.

"What do you want, Lupin?" Lupin finally took his eyes off Fred to look at Christina. He looked like he was in pain, his eyes were now incredibly dark and his teeth were baring. Again, he did not speak. There was a faint _pop!_ from the corner of the room and Mr. Weasley stood there, wand raised at Lupin.

"KIDS GET OUT OF HERE!" Mr. Weasley screamed and Christina didn't need telling twice, Lupin changed aim to Mr. Weasley and Christina grabbed Fred's hand and turned them both to dust, flying through the walls and outside the shop. They formed outside the front door and looked up at the window which was flashing again with jets of light.

"What's wrong with him?!" Fred said watching the fight. But Lupin was no longer in the office, instead wearing the same clothes as Lupin was Bellatrix Lestrange cackling and holding Mr. Weasley by the throat against the window.

"That's not Lupin!" Christina soared up to the window and just as Bellatrix was about to strike Christina crashed through the window tackling her off of him. Bellatrix licked her pointed teeth as Christina held her down. Mr. Weasley was by her side now pointing his wand at Bellatrix.

"Drop your wa—"

"CHRISTINA!" Fred shouted from down below. Christina at once let her body disperse and reform behind Mr. Weasley staring out the window to see a big, rangy man with matted gray hair and whiskers, wearing black Death Eater's robes advancing on Fred. Christina jumped from the window and levitated herself just before landing softly in front of Fred holding her hands up to the large man. He inhaled around Christina, taking in her scent and smiling.

"Delicious, delicious . . . didn't think I was going to have seconds tonight . . ." His voice was nothing like Christina had ever heard; a rasping bark of a voice. Christina could smell a powerful mixture of dirt, sweat, and, unmistakably, of blood coming from him. His filthy hands had long yellowish nails. The man went to take a step closer to Christina but she pushed him far away with hands made of rock. He fell back several feet away and seemed to be stirring quickly.

"Fred, you have to get out of here—"

"Not without you!"

"And your Dad—we have to alert the Order!" but before Christina or Fred could come up with a plan the massive man charged at them full speed, this time Christina remembered her strengths, and flew herself and Fred to safety high above in the air on a self-made platform. From there, Christina could see Mr. Weasley wrestling a wand away from Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Can you break that window?" Fred asked pointed to the window of his and George's office. A blasting spell was cast up at the platform and a bit of the rock broke away and fell to the ground.

"YOU CAN'T HIDE FROM ME!" the man shouted. Christina's mind was racing, she turned the glass to sand and Fred aimed his wand at the window, sending hexes at Bellatrix while the savage below cast hexes at Fred and Christina. Christina levitated some more of the pavement and rose it high in the air above the savage, turned it to lead, and let it fall. It just nearly missed him and he barked a laugh back at her.

"Yes!" Christina heard Fred say, she let another lead boulder fall down below and looked through the window to see Bellatrix concussed and Mr. Weasley looking out at herself and Fred.

"Kids, now!" Christina extended the platform to where Fred's office window used to be and Mr. Weasley grabbed both of the wrists and apparated.

Christina, Fred, and Mr. Weasley landed roughly about a hundred feet away from the Burrow directly into a flooded patch of field. Christina's heart was still racing . . . Bellatrix Lestrange was using polyjuice potion? How did she get into the Burrow? How did no one else know? Christina felt like she couldn't breathe, she doubled over onto her hands and knees, dizzily trying to catch her breath. Christina could hear people rushing towards them now . . .

"Show us your wands!" Christina recognized Mad-Eye Moody's voice quickly and raised her hands in the air.

"I don't have mine!" she called back, she lifted her head and moved the hair away from her face. There were so many figures coming now: Moody, Kingsley, Tonks, Mrs. Weasley, Bill, Fleur, George, Harry, Ron, Ginny, and the real Lupin, Christina hoped.

"Nobody is hurt!" Mr. Weasley said, giving his wand to a suspicious Kingsley. Fred bent down to help Christina up when several voices shouted a mixture of "Wait!" and "Don't touch her!". Christina helped herself off from the muddy ground, her hands, knees, and feet now sopping wet. After a round of questioning from each other them to prove Mr. Weasley and Fred were who they said they were, the group turned to Christina.

"Yours will be short. What form does your patronus take?"

"A fox." She said quickly, wanting this nightmare to be over.

"Where is the Order of the Phoenix headquarters?"

"Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place."

"Show us an example of your natural powers." To this, Christina could not give an answer.

"I—I can't. I've got, I'm wet you see, I can't—" Moody and Kingsley both drew their wands on Christina but it was Fred who stepped in.

"She can't use her powers if she's got any liquid on her!" he shouted from the group.

"Why?" asked Kingsley, who seemed genuinely curious.

"I don't know! It's not like I have anyone to ask . . ." she said and watched Moody and Kingsley exchange looks. "Well?" Christina asked.

"We'll wait." Moody said roughly.

"You'll wait for what?"

"We'll wait for you to dry off." She gaped at them but too could not think of a better solution. She watched Fred, George, and Ginny run into the house and saw them bringing clothes and towels back for her. _Bless them_ , she thought. After about twenty minutes of the crowd watching and waiting for her to dry off, during which Fleur went back inside, she finally showed the group a small example of her abilities. Holding a hand over the earth, a pole of dirt rose to her hands and she supercharged the ions to change its form – to solid emerald. She handed the gem-stick to Kingsley.

"Can I please go back inside now?" and true to their word, she was allowed to join the rest of the group to a round of hugs from Harry, Ron, Ginny, George and of course Fred. Just as Christina was going to head up stairs, surely to be interrogated by the group about what had happened, Mr. Weasley pulled her aside.

"Christina, a word?" Christina sighed and waited in the living room with Mr. Weasley while the others went back to bed, and for the other Order members to wait in the kitchen for Mr. Weasley's report.

"I'm sure you're tired and would very much like to get to bed but I have to know, while it's still fresh in your mind . . . what did Bellatrix Lestrange say to you as Remus to make you want to leave?" Christina was shocked by the question; she had surely thought he'd want to scold her on her reckless behavior. . .

"Oh, er. . . just playing on insecurities I'm sure . . ."

"Well, the only reason I ask is because what she said obviously got under your skin enough to make you want to be alone and vulnerable. If she knew that what she said would do that, then You-Know-Who knows this as well."

"Right . . . well he, or no I guess she, just said that, well," Christina felt very uncomfortable disclosing this fear of hers but Mr. Weasley was right, if Bellatrix knew this was her weakness then surely Voldemort did too, "She made me think that you all thought I was a freak and that . . ." tears welled up in her eyes and Mr. Weasley placed a hand on her shoulder, comforting her to move on. ". . . you wouldn't want me to join your family." Mr. Weasley gave her a sad smile and shook his head.

"Now, why on earth would you believe a silly thing like that?" Mr. Weasley asked sweetly. Christina didn't say anything, just let tears silently fall. She put her head down, she couldn't look at him. He pulled her in for a hug and felt even more uncomfortable. However, the warm embrace and genuine caring for her well-being was something no adult figure particularly sent her way and she quickly returned the hug, sighing into Mr. Weasley's shoulder.

"I say it to Molly all the time, Fred couldn't have found a better soulmate. You're always welcome in our family, Christina." And as if a door was unlocked, Christina smiled a let out a small sob before thanking Mr. Weasley.

Sure enough when Christina finally went upstairs to bed after telling Mr. Weasley any details he missed, Fred was standing on his bed reciting the tale for Harry, Ron, Ginny and George.

"Hey, she's back!" said Ginny.

"She's alive, more like it!" Ron jumped in.

"I can't believe you fought Bellatrix, what did she say? You have to tell us everything!" said Harry.

"I can't believe you flew all the way to Diagon Alley!" George added comically. Christina smiled at them beaming up at her for details and she obliged. Christina ended up falling asleep on Harry and Ron's floor while they all theorized how Bellatrix got into the household.

"She's got to be joking. . . ." Christina woke with a start to find a bulging stocking lying next to her head. She sat up and looked around; someone had put a blanket over her in the night, she smiled at the curtesy. The tiny window of the boys' room was almost completely obscured with snow and, in front of it, Ron was sitting bolt upright in bed and examining what appeared to be a thick gold chain.

"Morning. Happy Christmas guys" said Christina yawning and rubbing her eyes.

"Happy Christmas Christina! What's that Ron?" asked Harry.

"It's from Lavender," said Ron, sounding revolted. "She can't honestly think I'd wear . . ." Christina walked over to Ron's bed and looked more closely and let out a shout of laughter. Dangling from the chain in large gold letters were the words: My Sweetheart

"Nice, it's really your color" Harry said sarcastically.

"Yes very classy. You should definitely wear it in front of Fred and George." Christina said laughing.

"If you tell them," said Ron, shoving the necklace out of sight under his pillow, "I — I — I'll —"

"Stutter at me?" said Christina, grinning. "Come on, would I?"

"How could she think I'd like something like that, though?" Ron demanded of thin air, looking rather shocked.

"Well, think back," said Harry. "Have you ever let it slip that you'd like to go out in public with the words 'My Sweetheart' round your neck?"

"Well . . . we don't really talk much," said Ron. "It's mainly . . ."

"Snogging," said Christina.

"Well, yeah," said Ron. He hesitated a moment, then said, "Is Hermione really going out with McLaggen?"

"I dunno," said Harry. "They were at Slughorn's party together, but I don't think it went that well." Ron looked slightly more cheerful as he delved deeper into his stocking.

Christina's presents included a sweater with a lit wand worked onto the front, hand-knitted by Mrs. Weasley, a large box of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes products from the twins, and new sleek dress robes from Fred. Harry had received an old smelly package from Kreacher.

"D'you reckon this is safe to open?" he asked.

"Can't be anything dangerous, all our mail's still being searched at the Ministry," replied Ron, though he was eyeing the parcel suspiciously.

"I didn't think of giving Kreacher anything. Do people usually give their house-elves Christmas presents?" asked Harry, prodding the parcel cautiously.

"Hermione would," said Ron. "But let's wait and see what it is before you start feeling guilty." A moment later, Harry had given a loud yell and leapt out of his camp bed; the package contained a large number of maggots.

"Nice," said Ron, roaring with laughter. "Very thoughtful."

"I'd rather have them than that necklace," said Harry, which sobered Ron up at once.

Everybody was wearing new sweaters when they all sat down for Christmas lunch, everyone except Fleur (on whom, it appeared, Mrs. Weasley had not wanted to waste one) and Mrs. Weasley herself, who was sporting a brand-new midnight blue witch's hat glittering with what looked like tiny starlike diamonds, and a spectacular golden necklace.

"Fred and George gave them to me! Aren't they beautiful?"

"Well, we find we appreciate you more and more, Mum, now we're washing our own socks," said George, waving an airy hand. "Parsnips, Remus?"

"Harry, you've got a maggot in your hair," said Ginny cheerfully, leaning across the table to pick it out.

" 'Ow 'orrible," said Fleur, with an affected little shudder.

"Yes, isn't it?" said Ron. "Gravy, Fleur?" In his eagerness to help her, he knocked the gravy boat flying; Bill waved his wand and the gravy soared up in the air and returned meekly to the boat.

"You are as bad as zat Tonks," said Fleur to Ron, when she had finished kissing Bill in thanks. "She is always knocking —"

"I invited dear Tonks to come along today," said Mrs. Weasley, setting down the carrots with unnecessary force and glaring at Fleur. "But she wouldn't come. Have you spoken to her lately, Remus?"

"No, I haven't been in contact with anybody very much," said Lupin. "But Tonks has got her own family to go to, hasn't she?"

"Hmmm," said Mrs. Weasley. "Maybe. I got the impression she was planning to spend Christmas alone, actually." She gave Lupin an annoyed look, as though it was all his fault she was getting Fleur for a daughter-in-law instead of Tonks, but Christina, glancing across at Fleur, who was now feeding Bill bits of turkey off her own fork, thought that Mrs. Weasley was fighting a long-lost battle.

"Tonks's Patronus has changed its form," Harry said to Lupin. "Snape said so anyway. I didn't know that could happen. Why would your Patronus change?" Lupin took his time chewing his turkey and swallowing before saying slowly, "Sometimes . . . a great shock . . . an emotional upheaval . . ."

"It looked big, and it had four legs," said Harry. "Hey . . . it couldn't be — ?"

"Arthur!" said Mrs. Weasley suddenly. She had risen from her chair; her hand was pressed over her heart and she was staring out of the kitchen window. "Arthur — it's Percy!"

"What?" Mr. Weasley looked around. Everybody looked quickly at the window; Ginny stood up for a better look. There, sure enough, was Percy Weasley, striding across the snowy yard, his horn-rimmed glasses glinting in the sunlight. He was not, however, alone.

"Arthur, he's — he's with the Minister!" And sure enough, the man Christina had seen in the Daily Prophet was following along in Percy's wake, limping slightly, his mane of graying hair and his black cloak flecked with snow. Before any of them could say anything, before Mr. and Mrs. Weasley could do more than exchange stunned looks, the back door opened and there stood Percy. There was a moment's painful silence. Then Percy said rather stiffly, "Merry Christmas, Mother."

"Oh, Percy!" said Mrs. Weasley, and she threw herself into his arms. Rufus Scrimgeour paused in the doorway, leaning on his walking stick and smiling as he observed this affecting scene.

"You must forgive this intrusion," he said, when Mrs. Weasley looked around at him, beaming and wiping her eyes. "Percy and I were in the vicinity — working, you know — and he couldn't resist dropping in and seeing you all." But Percy showed no sign of wanting to greet any of the rest of the family. He stood, poker-straight and awkward-looking, and stared over everybody else's heads. Mr. Weasley, Fred, and George were all observing him, stony-faced.

"Please, come in, sit down, Minister!" fluttered Mrs. Weasley, straightening her hat. "Have a little purkey, or some tooding. . . . I mean —"

"No, no, my dear Molly," said Scrimgeour. Christina guessed that he had checked her name with Percy before they entered the house. "I don't want to intrude, wouldn't be here at all if Percy hadn't wanted to see you all so badly. . . ."

"Oh, Perce!" said Mrs. Weasley tearfully, reaching up to kiss him.

". . . We've only looked in for five minutes, so I'll have a stroll around the yard while you catch up with Percy. No, no, I assure you I don't want to butt in! Well, if anybody cared to show me your charming garden . . . Ah, that young man's finished, why doesn't he take a stroll with me?" The atmosphere around the table changed perceptibly. Everybody looked from Scrimgeour to Harry. Nobody seemed to find Scrimgeour s pretense that he did not know Harry's name convincing, or find it natural that he should be chosen to accompany the Minister around the garden when Ginny, Fleur, and George also had clean plates.

"Yeah, all right," said Harry into the silence. Christina was not fooled; for all Scrimgeour's talk that they had just been in the area, that Percy wanted to look up his family, this must be the real reason that they had come, so that Scrimgeour could speak to Harry alone.

"It's fine," he said quietly, as he passed Lupin, who had half risen from his chair.

"Fine," he added, as Mr. Weasley opened his mouth to speak.

"Wonderful!" said Scrimgeour, standing back to let Harry pass through the door ahead of him. "We'll just take a turn around the garden, and Percy and I'll be off. Carry on, everyone!"

The door closed behind Scrimgeour and Harry and all eyes went to Percy. He looked as conceited as Christina remembered.

"Percy, this is just—" Mrs. Weasley started, holding out her arms for a hug. But Percy held up a hand, she silenced immediately.

"Can you please just stop? The Minister should be back any minute and then we're gone." said Percy, crossing his arms and watching the Minster and Harry out the window. Christina watched Mrs. Weasley start to cry.

It was George who started it. He stood up, took a fork mashed parsnip, and flung it directly at Percy's face. It splattered beautifully over the entirety of his glasses. From there it was an ambush, Fred and Ginny joined in, Fred taking handfuls and throwing them at Percy as he magicked the bowl away from Fred and it smashed on the ground. Not even Mrs. Weasley's shouts could stop the food fight. However, not amused by the warfare, Percy stormed from the kitchen, Mrs. Weasley chasing after him.


	15. Chapter 15: Riddles

The rest of Christmas holidays were filled with extreme security measures and constant meetings with members of the Order. Apparently the large man that attacked Christina and Fred in Diagon Alley was a werewolf named Fenrir Greyback. He, according to Lupin, was the most vicious blood-thirsty werewolf in existence who preyed on children.

"I'm going to miss you, you know."

"You always say that, where's the proof!" Fred joked. It was the morning on the day she was to return to Hogwarts and yet again she had to say goodbye to Fred. He was just about to apparate to work. She held him tight before he had to go.

"I hope I'll get to write to you, god knows what the security measures are like now . . ." Christina said sadly. Fred kissed her forehead.

"Either way, I'll see you soon. I always see you before we're supposed to see each other anyways . . ." Fred said holding her. Christina smiled, it was true, but saying goodbye still was awful.

Later in the afternoon, Christina, Harry, Ron, and Ginny lined up beside the kitchen fire to return to Hogwarts. The Ministry had arranged this one-off connection to the Floo Network to return students quickly and safely to the school. Only Mrs. Weasley was there to say good-bye, as Mr. Weasley, Fred, George, Bill, and Fleur were all at work. Mrs. Weasley dissolved into tears at the moment of parting. Admittedly, it took very little to set her off lately; she had been crying on and off ever since Percy had stormed from the house on Christmas Day with his glasses splattered with mashed parsnip (for which Fred, George, and Ginny all claimed credit).

"Don't cry, Mum," said Ginny, patting her on the back as Mrs. Weasley sobbed into her shoulder. "It's okay. . . ."

"Yeah, don't worry about us," said Ron, permitting his mother to plant a very wet kiss on his cheek, "or about Percy. He's such a prat, it's not really a loss, is it?" Mrs. Weasley sobbed harder than ever as she enfolded Christina in her arms.

"Promise me you'll look after yourself. . . . Stay out of trouble. . . ."

"I always do, Mrs. Weasley," said Christina. "I like a quiet life, you know me." She gave a watery chuckle and stood back.

"Be good, then, all of you. . . ." Christina stepped into the emerald fire and shouted "Hogwarts!" She had one last fleeting view of the Weasleys' kitchen and Mrs. Weasley's tearful face before the flames engulfed her; spinning very fast, she caught blurred glimpses of other Wizarding rooms, which were whipped out of sight before she could get a proper look; then she was slowing down, finally stopping squarely in the fireplace in Professor McGonagall's office. She barely glanced up from her work as Christina clambered out over the grate to meet Harry.

"Evening, Bataskill. Try not to get too much ash on the carpet."

"No, Professor." Christina trying to comb her hair straight as Ron came spinning into view. When Ginny had arrived, all four of them trooped out of McGonagall's office and off toward Gryffindor Tower. Christina glanced out of the corridor windows as they passed; the sun was already sinking over grounds carpeted in deeper snow than had lain over the Burrow garden. In the distance, she could see Hagrid feeding Buckbeak in front of his cabin.

"Baubles," said Ron confidently, when they reached the Fat Lady, who was looking rather paler than usual and winced at his loud voice.

"No," she said.

"What d'you mean, 'no'?"

"There is a new password," she said. "And please don't shout."

"But we've been away, how're we supposed to — ?"

"Harry! Christina! Ginny!" Hermione was hurrying toward them, very pink-faced and wearing a cloak, hat, and gloves. "I got back a couple of hours ago, I've just been down to visit Hagrid and Buck — I mean Witherwings," she said breathlessly. "Did you have a good Christmas?"

"Yeah," said Ron at once, "pretty eventful, Rufus Scrim —"

"I've got something for you and Christina," said Hermione, neither looking at Ron nor giving any sign that she had heard him. "Oh, hang on — password. Abstinence."

"Precisely," said the Fat Lady in a feeble voice, and swung forward to reveal the portrait hole.

"What's up with her?" asked Harry.

"Overindulged over Christmas, apparently," said Hermione, rolling her eyes as she led the way into the packed common room. "She and her friend Violet drank their way through all the wine in that picture of drunk monks down by the Charms corridor. Anyway . . ." She rummaged in her pocket for a moment, then pulled out a scroll of parchment with Dumbledore's writing on it.

"Great," said Harry, he unrolled it at once and Christina glanced over his shoulder to discover that their next lesson with Dumbledore was scheduled for the following night.

"I've got loads to tell him — and you. Let's sit down —" said Christina. But at that moment there was a loud squeal of "Won-Won!" and Lavender Brown came hurtling out of nowhere and flung herself into Ron's arms. Several onlookers sniggered; Hermione gave a tinkling laugh and said, "There's a table over here. . . . Coming, Ginny?"

"No, thanks, I said I'd meet Dean," said Ginny, though Christina could not help noticing that she did not sound very enthusiastic. Leaving Ron and Lavender locked in a kind of vertical wrestling match, Christina and Harry led Hermione over to the spare table.

"So how was your Christmas?" Christina asked.

"Oh, fine," she shrugged. "Nothing special. How was it at WonWon's?"

"I'll tell you in a minute," said Harry. "Look, Hermione, can't you — ?"

"No, I can't," she said flatly. "So don't even ask."

"I thought maybe, you know, over Christmas —"

"It was the Fat Lady who drank a vat of five-hundred-year-old wine, Harry, not me. Christina, what was this important news you wanted to tell me?" She looked too fierce to argue with at that moment, so Harry dropped the subject of Ron. Christina recounted all that she had overheard between Malfoy and Snape and about fighting Bellatrix and Fenrir Greyback in Diagon Alley. When she had finished, Hermione sat in thought for a moment and then said, "Don't you think — ?"

"— he was pretending to offer help so that he could trick Malfoy into telling him what he's doing?"

"Well, yes," said Hermione.

"Ron's dad and Lupin think so," Harry said grudgingly.

"Not Lupin, Bellatrix." Christina corrected.

"Right! . . . I forgot about that . . . But this definitely proves Malfoy's planning something, you can't deny that."

"No, I can't," she answered slowly.

"And he's acting on Voldemort's orders, just like I said!"

"Hmm . . . did either of them actually mention Voldemort's name?" Christina frowned, trying to remember.

"I'm not sure . . . Snape definitely said 'your master,'" Christina answered.

"—and who else would that be?" Harry interjected.

"I don't know," said Hermione, biting her lip. "Maybe his father?" She stared across the room, apparently lost in thought, not even noticing Lavender tickling Ron. "How's Lupin?"

"Not great," said Harry.

"Have you heard of this Fenrir Greyback?" Christina asked.

"Yes, I have!" said Hermione, sounding startled. "And so have you, Harry!"

"When, History of Magic? You know full well I never listened . . ."

"No, no, not History of Magic — Malfoy threatened Borgin with him!" said Hermione. "Back in Knockturn Alley, don't you remember? He told Borgin that Greyback was an old family friend and that he'd be checking up on Borgin's progress!" Christina and Harry gaped at her. Christina was now starting to believe Harry's theory.

"I forgot! But this proves Malfoy's a Death Eater, how else could he be in contact with Greyback and telling him what to do?"

"It is pretty suspicious," breathed Hermione. "Unless . . ."

"Oh, come on," said Christina in exasperation, "I hate to admit it too but, you can't get round this one!"

"Well . . . there is the possibility it was an empty threat."

"You're unbelievable, you are," said Harry, shaking his head. "We'll see who's right. . . . You'll be eating your words, Hermione, just like the Ministry. Oh yeah, I had a row with Rufus Scrimgeour as well. . . ."

"Oh my god, that's right, I didn't even ask, how'd that go?" Christina asked Harry.

"Oh just the usual, 'come work with the Ministry to make it seem like we're not all as crazy and far-fetched as we seem . . .'" Christina laughed.

"And what'd you say?"

"He basically wanted me to distance myself from Dumbledore and I told him to shove off and that I'd stand by Dumbledore no matter what."

And the rest of the evening passed amicably with all of them abusing the Minister of Magic, for Hermione, like Ron, thought that after all the Ministry had put Christina and Harry through the previous year, they had a great deal of nerve asking him for help now.

The new term started next morning with a pleasant surprise for the sixth years: a large sign had been pinned to the common room notice boards overnight.

 **APPARITION LESSONS**

 _If you are twenty-three years of age, or will turn twenty-three on or before the 31st August next, you are eligible for a twelve-week course of Apparition Lessons from a Ministry of Magic Apparition instructor. Please sign below if you would like to participate. Cost: 12 Galleons._

Christina, Harry and Ron joined the crowd that was jostling around the notice and taking it in turns to write their names at the bottom. Ron was just taking out his quill to sign after Hermione when Lavender crept up behind him, slipped her hands over his eyes, and trilled, "Guess who, Won-Won?" Christina turned to see Hermione stalking off; she caught up with her, having no wish to stay behind with Ron and Lavender, but to Christina's surprise, Ron caught up with them only a little way beyond the portrait hole, his ears bright red and his expression disgruntled. Without a word, Hermione sped up to walk with Neville who seemed to be ignoring Christina, justifiably so, after the Christmas Party.

"So — Apparition," said Ron, his tone making it perfectly plain that neither Christina nor Harry were not to mention what had just happened. "Should be a laugh, eh?"

"I dunno," said Harry. "Maybe it's better when you do it yourself, I didn't enjoy it much when Dumbledore took me along for the ride."

"Ugh me either." said Christina.

"I forgot you'd already done it. . . . I'd better pass my test first time," said Ron, looking anxious.

"Fred and George did." said Christina.

"Charlie failed, though, didn't he?"

"Yeah, but Charlie's bigger than me" — Ron held his arms out from his body as though he was a gorilla — "so Fred and George didn't go on about it much . . . not to his face anyway . . ."

"When can we take the actual test?"

"Soon as we're twenty-three. That's only March for me!"

"Yeah, but you wouldn't be able to Apparate in here, not in the castle . . ."

"Not the point, is it? Everyone would know I could Apparate if I wanted." Ron was not the only one to be excited at the prospect of Apparition. All that day there was much talk about the forthcoming lessons; a great deal of store was set by being able to vanish and reappear at will.

"How cool will it be when we can just —" Seamus clicked his fingers to indicate disappearance. "Me cousin Fergus does it just to annoy me, you wait till I can do it back . . . He'll never have another peaceful moment. . . ." Lost in visions of this happy prospect, he flicked his wand a little too enthusiastically, so that instead of producing the fountain of pure water that was the object of today's Charms lesson, he let out a hoselike jet that ricocheted off the ceiling and knocked Professor Flitwick flat on his face.

"Harry and Christina's already Apparated," Ron told a slightly abashed Seamus, after Professor Flitwick had dried himself off with a wave of his wand and set Seamus lines: "I am a wizard, not a baboon brandishing a stick."

"Dum — er — someone took him. Side-Along-Apparition, you know."

"Whoa!" whispered Seamus, and he, Dean, and Neville put their heads a little closer to hear what Apparition felt like. For the rest of the day, Christina was besieged with requests from the other sixth years to describe the sensation of Apparition. All of them seemed awed, rather than put off, when she told them how uncomfortable it was, and she was still answering detailed questions at ten to eight that evening, when she was forced to lie and say that she needed to return a book to the library, so as to escape in time for her and Harry's lesson with Dumbledore.

The lamps in Dumbledore's office were lit, the portraits of previous headmasters were snoring gently in their frames, and the Pensieve was ready upon the desk once more. Dumbledore's hands lay on either side of it, the right one as blackened and burnt-looking as ever. It did not seem to have healed at all and Christina wondered, for perhaps the hundredth time, what had caused such a distinctive injury, but did not ask; Dumbledore had said that she would know eventually and there was, in any case, another subject she wanted to discuss. But before Christina could say anything about Bellatrix, Greyback, Snape and Malfoy, Dumbledore spoke first.

"I apologize for what you experienced over Christmas, Christina. Bellatrix Lestrange being able to fool our security sensors was a gross-mishap and it won't happen again."

"It's okay—I, er, we dealt with it well I thought" Christina said, thinking back to Fred's superb spellwork.

"I would have been there if I could, trust me." Christina didn't say anything and just smiled. She could tell Dumbledore was sincere about his word. He then turned to address Harry.

"I hear that you met the Minister of Magic over Christmas?"

"Yes," said Harry. "He's not very happy with me."

"No," sighed Dumbledore. "He is not very happy with me either. We must try not to sink beneath our anguish, Harry, but battle on." Harry grinned.

"He wanted me to tell the Wizarding community that the Ministry's doing a wonderful job." Dumbledore smiled.

"It was Fudge's idea originally, you know. During his last days in office, when he was trying desperately to cling to his post, he sought a meeting with you, hoping that you would give him your support —"

"After everything Fudge did last year?" said Christina angrily. "After Umbridge?"

"I told Cornelius there was no chance of it, but the idea did not die when he left office. Within hours of Scrimgeour's appointment we met and he demanded that I arrange a meeting with you —"

"So that's why you argued!" Harry blurted out. "It was in the Daily Prophet."

"The Prophet is bound to report the truth occasionally," said Dumbledore, "if only accidentally. Yes, that was why we argued. Well, it appears that Rufus found a way to corner you at last."

"He accused me of being 'Dumbledore's man through and through.' "

"How very rude of him."

"I told him I was." Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again. Behind them, Fawkes the phoenix let out a low, soft, musical cry. To Christina's intense embarrassment, she suddenly realized that Dumbledore's bright blue eyes looked rather watery, and stared hastily at his own knees. When Dumbledore spoke, however, his voice was quite steady.

"I am very touched, Harry."

"Scrimgeour wanted to know where you go when you're not at Hogwarts," said Harry, still looking fixedly at his knees.

"Yes, he is very nosy about that," said Dumbledore, now sounding cheerful, and Christian thought it safe to look up again. "He has even attempted to have me followed. Amusing, really. He set Dawlish to tail me. It wasn't kind. I have already been forced to jinx Dawlish once; I did it again with the greatest regret."

"So they still don't know where you go?" asked Christina, hoping for more information on this intriguing subject, but Dumbledore merely smiled over the top of his half-moon spectacles.

"No, they don't, and the time is not quite right for either of you to know either. Now, I suggest we press on, unless there's anything else — ?"

"There is, actually, sir," said Christina. "It's about Malfoy and Snape."

"Professor Snape, Christina."

"Yes, sir. I overheard them in a classroom with Fred Weasley." Dumbledore listened to Christina's story with an impassive face. She obviously didn't tell Dumbledore the reason for being in the room in the first place other than they wanted to be alone. When Christina had finished he did not speak for a few moments, then said, "Thank you for telling me this, Christina, but I suggest that you put it out of your mind. I do not think that it is of great importance."

"Not of great importance?" repeated Harry incredulously. "Professor, did you understand — ?"

"Yes, Harry, blessed as I am with extraordinary brainpower, I understood everything you told me," said Dumbledore, a little sharply. "I think you might even consider the possibility that I understood more than you did. Again, I am glad that you have confided in me, but let me reassure you that you have not told me anything that causes me disquiet." Christina could feel Harry's anger reverberating off him and just sighed. She wanted to believe him and everything she had heard definitely been in Harry's favor but somehow every person seemed to shrug it off as either coincidence or excused by an external factor.

"So, sir," said Harry, in what was a mock polite, calm voice, "you definitely still trust — ?"

"I have been tolerant enough to answer that question already," said Dumbledore, but he did not sound very tolerant anymore. "My answer has not changed."

"I should think not," said a snide voice; Phineas Nigellus was evidently only pretending to be asleep. Dumbledore ignored him.

"And now, I must insist that we press on. I have more important things to discuss with you this evening." Christina and Harry sat there quietly and Dumbledore shook his head.

"Ah, Harry, how often this happens, even between the best of friends! Each of us believes that what he has to say is much more important than anything the other might have to contribute!"

"I don't think what you've got to say is unimportant, sir," said Harry stiffly.

"Well, you are quite right, because it is not," said Dumbledore briskly. Christina laughed. "I have two more memories to show you this evening, both obtained with enormous difficulty, and the second of them is, I think, the most important I have collected." Again, both sat in silence waiting for Dumbledore to proceed.

"So," said Dumbledore, in a ringing voice, "we meet this evening to continue the tale of Tom Riddle, whom we left last lesson poised on the threshold of his years at Hogwarts. You will remember how excited he was to hear that he was a wizard, that he refused my company on a trip to Diagon Alley, and that I, in turn, warned him against continued thievery when he arrived at school.

"Well, the start of the school year arrived and with it came Tom Riddle, a quiet boy in his secondhand robes, who lined up with the other first years to be sorted. He was placed in Slytherin House almost the moment that the Sorting Hat touched his head," continued Dumbledore, waving his blackened hand toward the shelf over his head where the Sorting Hat sat, ancient and unmoving.

"How soon Riddle learned that the famous founder of the House could talk to snakes, I do not know — perhaps that very evening. The knowledge can only have excited him and increased his sense of self-importance.

"However, if he was frightening or impressing fellow Slytherins with displays of Parseltongue in their common room, no hint of it reached the staff. He showed no sign of outward arrogance or aggression at all. As an unusually talented and very good-looking orphan, he naturally drew attention and sympathy from the staff almost from the moment of his arrival. He seemed polite, quiet, and thirsty for knowledge. Nearly all were most favorably impressed by him."

"Didn't you tell them, sir, what he'd been like when you met him at the orphanage?" asked Harry.

"No, I did not. Though he had shown no hint of remorse, it was possible that he felt sorry for how he had behaved before and was resolved to turn over a fresh leaf. I chose to give him that chance." Dumbledore paused and looked inquiringly at Harry, who had opened his mouth to speak.

"But you didn't really trust him, sir, did you? He told me . . . the Riddle who came out of that diary said, 'Dumbledore never seemed to like me as much as the other teachers did.' "

"Let us say that I did not take it for granted that he was trustworthy," said Dumbledore. "I had, as I have already indicated, resolved to keep a close eye upon him, and so I did. I cannot pretend that I gleaned a great deal from my observations at first. He was very guarded with me; he felt, I am sure, that in the thrill of discovering his true identity he had told me a little too much. He was careful never to reveal as much again, but he could not take back what he had let slip in his excitement, nor what Mrs. Cole had confided in me. However, he had the sense never to try and charm me as he charmed so many of my colleagues.

"As he moved up the school, he gathered about him a group of dedicated friends; I call them that, for want of a better term, although as I have already indicated, Riddle undoubtedly felt no affection for any of them. This group had a kind of dark glamour within the castle. They were a motley collection; a mixture of the weak seeking protection, the ambitious seeking some shared glory, and the thuggish gravitating toward a leader who could show them more refined forms of cruelty. In other words, they were the forerunners of the Death Eaters, and indeed some of them became the first Death Eaters after leaving Hogwarts.

"Rigidly controlled by Riddle, they were never detected in open wrongdoing, although their seven years at Hogwarts were marked by a number of nasty incidents to which they were never satisfactorily linked, the most serious of which was, of course, the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, which resulted in the death of a girl. As you know, Hagrid was wrongly accused of that crime.

"I have not been able to find many memories of Riddle at Hogwarts," said Dumbledore, placing his withered hand on the Pensieve. "Few who knew him then are prepared to talk about him; they are too terrified. What I know, I found out after he had left Hogwarts, after much painstaking effort, after tracing those few who could be tricked into speaking, after searching old records and questioning Muggle and wizard witnesses alike.

"Those whom I could persuade to talk told me that Riddle was obsessed with his parentage. This is understandable, of course; he had grown up in an orphanage and naturally wished to know how he came to be there. It seems that he searched in vain for some trace of Tom Riddle senior on the shields in the trophy room, on the lists of prefects in the old school records, even in the books of Wizarding history. Finally, he was forced to accept that his father had never set foot in Hogwarts. I believe that it was then that he dropped the name forever, assumed the identity of Lord Voldemort, and began his investigations into his previously despised mother's family — the woman whom, you will remember, he had thought could not be a witch if she had succumbed to the shameful human weakness of death.

"All he had to go upon was the single name 'Marvolo,' which he knew from those who ran the orphanage had been his mother's father's name. Finally, after painstaking research through old books of Wizarding families, he discovered the existence of Slytherin's surviving line. In the summer of his twenty-second year, he left the orphanage to which he returned annually and set off to find his Gaunt relatives. And now, Harry, Christina, if you will stand . . ." Dumbledore rose, and Christina saw that he was again holding a small crystal bottle filled with swirling, pearly memory.

"I was very lucky to collect this," he said, as he poured the gleaming mass into the Pensieve. "As you will understand when we have experienced it. Shall we?" Christina stepped up to the stone basin and bowed obediently until her face sank through the surface of the memory; she felt the familiar sensation of falling through nothingness and then landed upon a dirty stone floor in almost total darkness. It took her several seconds to recognize the place, by which time Dumbledore and Harry had landed beside her.

The Gaunts' house was now more indescribably filthy than anywhere Christina had ever seen. The ceiling was thick with cobwebs, the floor coated in grime; moldy and rotting food lay upon the table amidst a mass of crusted pots. The only light came from a single guttering candle placed at the feet of a man with hair and beard so overgrown Christina could see neither eyes nor mouth. He was slumped in an armchair by the fire, and Christina wondered for a moment whether he was dead. But then there came a loud knock on the door and the man jerked awake, raising a wand in his right hand and a short knife in his left. The door creaked open. There on the threshold, holding an old fashioned lamp, stood a boy, tall, pale, dark-haired, and handsome — the teenage Voldemort.

Voldemort's eyes moved slowly around the hovel and then found the man in the armchair. For a few seconds they looked at each other, then the man staggered upright, the many empty bottles at his feet clattering and tinkling across the floor.

"YOU!" he bellowed. "YOU!" And he hurtled drunkenly at Riddle, wand and knife held aloft.

"Stop." Riddle spoke in Parseltongue. The man skidded into the table, sending moldy pots crashing to the floor. He stared at Riddle. There was a long silence while they contemplated each other. The man broke it.

"You speak it?"

"Yes, I speak it," said Riddle. He moved forward into the room, allowing the door to swing shut behind him. Christina could not help but feel a resentful admiration for Voldemort's complete lack of fear. His face merely expressed disgust and, perhaps, disappointment.

"Where is Marvolo?" he asked.

"Dead," said the other. "Died years ago, didn't he?" Riddle frowned.

"Who are you, then?"

"I'm Morfin, ain't I?"

"Marvolo's son?"

" 'Course I am, then . . ." Morfin pushed the hair out of his dirty face, the better to see Riddle, and Christina saw that he wore Marvolo's black-stoned ring on his right hand.

"I thought you was that Muggle," whispered Morfin. "You look mighty like that Muggle."

"What Muggle?" said Riddle sharply.

"That Muggle what my sister took a fancy to, that Muggle what lives in the big house over the way," said Morfin, and he spat unexpectedly upon the floor between them. "You look right like him. Riddle. But he's older now, in 'e? He's older'n you, now I think on it. . . ." Morfin looked slightly dazed and swayed a little, still clutching the edge of the table for support.

"He come back, see," he added stupidly. Voldemort was gazing at Morfin as though appraising his possibilities. Now he moved a little closer and said, "Riddle came back?"

"Ar, he left her, and serve her right, marrying filth!" said Morfin, spitting on the floor again.

"Robbed us, mind, before she ran off! Where's the locket, eh, where's Slytherin's locket?" Voldemort did not answer. Morfin was working himself into a rage again; he brandished his knife and shouted, "Dishonored us, she did, that little slut! And who're you, coming here and asking questions about all that? It's over, innit. . . . It's over. . . ." He looked away, staggering slightly, and Voldemort moved forward. As he did so, an unnatural darkness fell, extinguishing Voldemort's lamp and Morfin's candle, extinguishing everything. . . . Dumbledore's fingers closed tightly around Christina's arm and they were soaring back into the present again.

The soft golden light in Dumbledore's office seemed to dazzle Christina's eyes after that impenetrable darkness.

"Is that all?" said Harry at once.

"Why did it go dark, what happened?" Christina asked.

"Because Morfin could not remember anything from that point onward," said Dumbledore, gesturing Christina and Harry back into their seats. "When he awoke next morning, he was lying on the floor, quite alone. Marvolo's ring had gone.

"Meanwhile, in the village of Little Hangleton, a maid was running along the High Street, screaming that there were three bodies lying in the drawing room of the big house: Tom Riddle Senior and his mother and father.

"The Muggle authorities were perplexed. As far as I am aware, they do not know to this day how the Riddles died, for the Avada Kedavra curse does not usually leave any sign of damage. . . . The exceptions sit before me," Dumbledore added, with a nod to Christina and Harry's scars.

"The Ministry, on the other hand, knew at once that this was a wizard's murder. They also knew that a convicted Muggle-hater lived across the valley from the Riddle house, a Muggle-hater who had already been imprisoned once for attacking one of the murdered people.

"So the Ministry called upon Morfin. They did not need to question him, to use Veritaserum or Legilimency. He admitted to the murder on the spot, giving details only the murderer could know. He was proud, he said, to have killed the Muggles, had been awaiting his chance all these years. He handed over his wand, which was proved at once to have been used to kill the Riddles. And he permitted himself to be led off to Azkaban without a fight. All that disturbed him was the fact that his father's ring had disappeared. 'He'll kill me for losing it,' he told his captors over and over again. 'He'll kill me for losing his ring.' And that, apparently, was all he ever said again. He lived out the remainder of his life in Azkaban, lamenting the loss of Marvolo's last heirloom, and is buried beside the prison, alongside the other poor souls who have expired within its walls."

"So Voldemort stole Morfin's wand and used it?" said Harry, sitting up straight.

"That's right," said Dumbledore. "We have no memories to show us this, but I think we can be fairly sure what happened. Voldemort Stupefied his uncle, took his wand, and proceeded across the valley to 'the big house over the way' There he murdered the Muggle man who had abandoned his witch mother, and, for good measure, his Muggle grandparents, thus obliterating the last of the unworthy Riddle line and revenging himself upon the father who never wanted him. Then he returned to the Gaunt hovel, performed the complex bit of magic that would implant a false memory in his uncle's mind, laid Morfin's wand beside its unconscious owner, pocketed the ancient ring he wore, and departed."

"And Morfin never realized he hadn't done it?" Christina asked.

"Never," said Dumbledore. "He gave, as I say, a full and boastful confession."

"But he had this real memory in him all the time!" Harry said shocked.

"Yes, but it took a great deal of skilled Legilimency to coax it out of him," said Dumbledore, "and why should anybody delve further into Morfin's mind when he had already confessed to the crime? However, I was able to secure a visit to Morfin in the last weeks of his life, by which time I was attempting to discover as much as I could about Voldemort's past. I extracted this memory with difficulty. When I saw what it contained, I attempted to use it to secure Morfin's release from Azkaban. Before the Ministry reached their decision, however, Morfin had died."

"But how come the Ministry didn't realize that Voldemort had done all that to Morfin?" Harry asked angrily.

"He was underage at the time, wasn't he? I thought they could detect underage magic!" Christina joined in.

"You are quite right — they can detect magic, but not the perpetrator: You will remember that Harry was blamed by the Ministry for the Hover Charm that was, in fact, cast by —"

"Dobby," growled Harry; this injustice still rankled.

"So if you're underage and you do magic inside an adult witch or wizard's house, the Ministry won't know?" Christina asked.

"They will certainly be unable to tell who performed the magic," said Dumbledore, smiling slightly at the look of great indignation on Christina's face. "They rely on witch and wizard parents to enforce their offspring's obedience while within their walls."

"Well, that's rubbish," snapped Christina. "Look what happened here, look what happened to Morfin!"

"I agree," said Dumbledore. "Whatever Morfin was, he did not deserve to die as he did, blamed for murders he had not committed. But it is getting late, and I want you to see this other memory before we part. . . ." Dumbledore took from an inside pocket another crystal phial and Christina fell silent at once, remembering that Dumbledore had said it was the most important one he had collected. Christina noticed that the contents proved difficult to empty into the Pensieve, as though they had congealed slightly; did memories go bad?

"This will not take long," said Dumbledore, when he had finally emptied the phial. "We shall be back before you know it. Once more into the Pensieve, then . . ." And Christina fell again through the silver surface, landing this time right in front of a man she recognized at once. It was a much younger Horace Slughorn. Christina was so used to him bald that she found the sight of Slughorn with thick, shiny, straw-colored hair quite disconcerting; it looked as though he had had his head thatched, though there was already a shiny Galleon-sized bald patch on his crown. His mustache, less massive than it was these days, was gingery-blond. He was not quite as rotund as the Slughorn Christina knew, though the golden buttons on his richly embroidered waistcoat were taking a fair amount of strain. His little feet resting upon a velvet pouffe, he was sitting well back in a comfortable winged armchair, one hand grasping a small glass of wine, the other searching through a box of crystalized pineapple.

Christina looked around as Dumbledore and Harry appeared beside her and saw that they were standing in Slughorn's office. Half a dozen boys were sitting around Slughorn, all on harder or lower seats than his, and all in their mid-teens. Christina recognized Voldemort at once. His was the most handsome face and he looked the most relaxed of all the boys. His right hand lay negligently upon the arm of his chair; with a jolt, Christina saw that he was wearing Marvolo's gold-and-black ring; he had already killed his father.

"Sir, is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?" he asked.

"Tom, Tom, if I knew I couldn't tell you," said Slughorn, wagging a reproving, sugar-covered finger at Riddle, though ruining the effect slightly by winking.

"I must say, I'd like to know where you get your information, boy, more knowledgeable than half the staff, you are." Riddle smiled; the other boys laughed and cast him admiring looks. "What with your uncanny ability to know things you shouldn't, and your careful flattery of the people who matter — thank you for the pineapple, by the way, you're quite right, it is my favorite —" As several of the boys tittered, something very odd happened. The whole room was suddenly filled with a thick white fog, so that Christina could see nothing but the faces of Dumbledore and Harry, who were standing beside her, Harry looking equally confused. Then Slughorn's voice rang out through the mist, unnaturally loudly,

"You'll go wrong, boy, mark my words."

The fog cleared as suddenly as it had appeared and yet nobody made any allusion to it, nor did anybody look as though anything unusual had just happened. Bewildered, Christina looked around as a small golden clock standing upon Slughorn's desk chimed eleven o'clock.

"Good gracious, is it that time already?" said Slughorn. "You'd better get going, boys, or we'll all be in trouble. Lestrange, I want your essay by tomorrow or it's detention. Same goes for you, Avery." Slughorn pulled himself out of his armchair and carried his empty glass over to his desk as the boys filed out. Voldemort, however, stayed behind. Christina could tell he had dawdled deliberately, wanting to be last in the room with Slughorn.

"Look sharp, Tom," said Slughorn, turning around and finding him still present. "You don't want to be caught out of bed out of hours, and you a prefect . . ."

"Sir, I wanted to ask you something."

"Ask away, then, m'boy, ask away. . . ."

"Sir, I wondered what you know about . . . about Horcruxes?" And it happened all over again: The dense fog filled the room so that Christina could not see Slughorn or Voldemort at all; only Dumbledore, smiling serenely beside her and Harry trying to wave away the fog. Then Slughorn's voice boomed out again, just as it had done before.

"I don't know anything about Horcruxes and I wouldn't tell you if I did! Now get out of here at once and don't let me catch you mentioning them again!"

"Well, that's that," said Dumbledore placidly beside Christina and Harry. "Time to go." And Christina's feet left the floor to fall, seconds later, back onto the rug in front of Dumbledore's desk.

"That's all there is?" said Christina blankly. Dumbledore had said that this was the most important memory of all, but she could not see what was so significant about it. Admittedly the fog, and the fact that nobody seemed to have noticed it, was odd, but other than that nothing seemed to have happened except that Voldemort had asked a question and failed to get an answer.

"As you might have noticed," said Dumbledore, reseating himself behind his desk, "that memory has been tampered with."

"Tampered with?" repeated Harry, sitting back down too.

"Certainly," said Dumbledore. "Professor Slughorn has meddled with his own recollections."

"But why would he do that?" Christina asked.

"Because, I think, he is ashamed of what he remembers," said Dumbledore. "He has tried to rework the memory to show himself in a better light, obliterating those parts which he does not wish me to see. It is, as you will have noticed, very crudely done, and that is all to the good, for it shows that the true memory is still there beneath the alterations.

"And so, for the first time, I am giving you two homework. It will be your jobs to persuade Professor Slughorn to divulge the real memory, which will undoubtedly be our most crucial piece of information of all." Christina stared at him.

"But surely, sir," she said, keeping her voice as respectful as possible, "you don't need me — you could use Legilimency . . . or Veritaserum. . . ."

"Professor Slughorn is an extremely able wizard who will be expecting both," said Dumbledore. "He is much more accomplished at Occlumency than poor Morfin Gaunt, and I would be astonished if he has not carried an antidote to Veritaserum with him ever since I coerced him into giving me this travesty of a recollection.

"No, I think it would be foolish to attempt to wrest the truth from Professor Slughorn by force, and might do much more harm than good; I do not wish him to leave Hogwarts. However, he has his weaknesses like the rest of us, and I believe that you are the only ones who might be able to penetrate his defenses. It is most important that we secure the true memory . . . . How important, we will only know when we have seen the real thing. So, good luck . . . and good night."

A little taken aback by the abrupt dismissal, Christina and Harry got to their feet quickly. They both wished him goodnight. As Christina closed the study door behind them, she distinctly heard Phineas Nigellus say, "I can't see why the kids should be able to do it better than you, Dumbledore."

"I wouldn't expect you to, Phineas," replied Dumbledore, and Fawkes gave another low, musical cry.


End file.
